A Gypsy's Tale
by Rasielle
Summary: A Gypsy girl is imprisoned by a haughty prince: a fateful beginning. Inadvertently, she proves a Gypsy woman's worth through a heavy backdrop of drama, conspiracies, and a heart she did not intend to catch. [CH 20 IS UP!]
1. Eszti

**Summary**: A gypsy girl is imprisoned by a haughty prince, much to her self-disgust. Every attempt he makes to befriend her fails – miserably, I might add. But what will happen when he drops the big, king-of-the-world act and stops being a pain? Gypsy's POV, R/R

**A/N**: To let you know, I used actual Gypsy names. Well, they're Hungarian and Romanian names, since Gypsies are from both heritages, but since I am completely obsessed with strange names, I love them. Anyway, please review... if I get enough reviews (still don't know my goal) maybe I won't be too discouraged to continue the story. And NO FLAMES. They don't help.

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**Chapter One:** Eszti

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My tale is a very uncommon one, something people would be tempted to categorize as a fairytale. I wouldn't call it that, despite the prince and the magical creatures and lands. This is _my_ story now, and to let you know beforehand, it is a story written in a completely opposite way to Cinderella, who is just too weak and frail for her own good. I mean, who wouldn't run away or fight back after being forced to work for their two stepsisters? Really, now...

I am a fifteen-year-old Gypsy girl, one of the dark-complexioned people that are believed to be magicians and bandits. We laugh at those stereotyped ideas, rather than take them as deep insults. In reality, we are simply fortunetellers, musicians, and artists. But sometimes, we like to scare the rich people by stealing little things as jokes, and returning them later in the night. As they have presented our people with little honor, we enjoy their shrieks of terror and pleading. Somehow, they believe that we can murder them with our "magic". I wonder who started those ridiculous ideas...

One night, Mariutza, Jenica, Lorant, and I were settled in our group's camp right by the city of Arvette, where the royal family lived. We were joking and laughing over a warm fire in the woods.

In our clearing, the pale light of the moon radiated through the thick canopy of leaves and the campfire shown like a ruby among coal. Apart from a clump of glittering stars, the moon and the fire were the only sources of light. Everything else was an endless black.

"Tomorrow, Lorant and I are going riding," Mariutza declared, grinning at Jenica and I. Jenica's face fell, though mine lit up. Riding? I've always wanted to go riding. My mind was set; I'd force Mariutza and Lorant to allow me to come if I had to.

"Nani wants me to help her set up our tent two days from now," said Jenica timidly, staring at the ground. Mariutza and Lorant exchanged glances; Jenica's mother never let her do anything, and Mariutza, Lorant, and I were always looking for a way she could join. They seemed to come up with nothing. Lorant had shrugged and Mariutza had grimaced.

"Maybe next time, Jenica," Mariutza said gently. Jenica nodded absently, still staring at the ground and frowning.

"Can I come, Mariutza?" I asked her. She looked thoughtful. I made a face, annoyed. Was this girl dangling the opportunity in my face? Because it wasn't a hard decision.

"You don't have a horse, Eszti," she reasoned. My heart plummeted. Did this mean they wouldn't let me borrow one? I scavenged for a way in my head, finally finding a solution.

"What if I steal a horse?" I asked eagerly. Mariutza and Lorant sucked in their breaths and Jenica's head darted up. I knew what they were thinking; although we stole frequently, they were always little things. Sometimes we stole chicken eggs, a few pieces of silver, and other small possessions. But they were all for fun and we always returned what we stole. And the idea of stealing a horse right under the nose of the royal family... not pretty. Still, they weren't going to get me to give up this opportunity to go riding.

"Are you sure you'd try such a thing, Eszti?" Jenica asked hesitantly. I nodded hard. I'd at least "borrow" the horse until the riding was over, then return it later on. No one need know it was even gone.

"Of course." I said boldly. Mariutza and Lorant shook their heads in time and Jenica bit her lip. But they knew better than to argue with me, since I won almost every single argument thrown my way. Nen (my mother) claimed it was the way I could use words to make everything defend me, while Da (my father) claimed it was my hardheadedness. Whatever it was, I was more than grateful for it.

"It's your choice, Eszti, but be careful. The rich people show no mercy," Mariutza said sagely.

I didn't realize how right she was until later on.

The next morning, I woke up with an impossibly churning stomach. The thought of stealing something as large and as noticeable as a horse made my stomach flip and writhe, but I couldn't back out from my word. I was known around the camp as a strong-willed, determined girl who, if not directly given her way, would find it on her own. It was my reputation, and I would not soil it.

I dressed into a sleeveless silk gown of bright, Gypsy purple. The hems and sides of the dress were decorated with small, gold bangles, and the hemline was slanted: it was from an inch or two past my knee down to my ankles. I wore my hair down as usual, but I did wear long gold earrings, a single gold necklace, and several gold bracelets.

When I stepped out of my tent, I saw Mariutza and Jenica talking in low voices. When they finally spotted me, they stopped and stared.

"Eszti, do you really want to do this?" Jenica asked tentatively.

"Because Lorant and I don't need to go riding," Mariutza added quickly.

I gazed from one to the other and shook my head.

"No. I will stick to my word and take a horse from the stables. If either of you tell anyone, I swear I will never forgive you."

"We won't tell, Eszti," said Jenica reassuringly.

"But we have to warn you," Mariutza insisted. "that the only stable in Arvette is the royal stable. Under the highest, rich-man security."

I was silent. The royal stables? _Royal _stables? Exactly how secure would this guard be in the _royal stables_? But this didn't dissuade me at all.

"Be that is it may, but I stand strong. I am leaving later in the afternoon."

"Later in the afternoon," Jenica repeated, still looking a bit shaken.

"Later in the afternoon," chorused Mariutza, as though to reassure herself.

_Later in the afternoon..._

I was facing the stables, and was instantly struck at how tall and intimidating it was. I swallowed hard and slipped under its wooden shelter, hiding behind the thick poles and behind groups of haystacks.

I strained my hearing hard for any voices anywhere nearby. When I was sure that no one was there, I took a deep breath and stepped up to the nearest horse, staring at it. Would it be good enough for me? I was a hard rider, and I needed a horse that could run fast and follow directions right.

Yes, it was good enough, I decided. Besides, I didn't want to be stuck in this gigantic stable-house for too long a time. The scent was unbearable.

My hands frantically fumbled around the reins and I unsteadily loosened the tie. I checked behind my shoulder.

No one there. Good.

Just as I began leading the horse out its stall, I heard footsteps behind me. My heart skipped. They weren't the horses' quick footsteps. They were a man's.

My head whipped around. There was a great burly man hurrying towards me, looking especially scary at a time like this.

"Gypsy! What do you think you're doing? Unhand that horse!" he yelled, now breaking into a run.

Great. Was it so necessary that he had to be stereotyped about this?

Dropping the reins, I ran. This wasn't supposed to happen; I wasn't supposed to get caught, What would the camp say? What would Jenica, Mariutza, and Lorant say? What would Nen and Da say?

This urged my legs faster and I was running like I never had before. I still heard the man's less-than-whispered obscenities as he chased after me, now followed by a few other voices. The only word I could distinguish was 'Gypsy'. This didn't improve my feelings for them.

Curse these rich people.

My calves stung with pain and a stitch in the side of my hips developed, but I kept on running. Running along the dirt road, small clouds of dust flew up with my every light step, until I could barely breathe. I chanced a glance behind my shoulder, but no one was there. I slowed down and tried to catch my breath.

Good. Now where to hide...

Frenetically scanning the landscape with my eyes, they landed on a shed near a manor, with a few clucking chickens scratching the ground. I stole into the shed and carefully closed the metal door shut. Then, right on cue, I heard a few voices outside.

_Nen and Da will have my head, _I thought to myself.

_Cluck. Cluck._

I jumped. What the heck was that? I whipped around and looked down.

A chicken. Great.

I bent down and tried to keep its beak shut with my hands. No such luck. It pecked at the tips of my fingers until I gave a sort of strangled yelp. I frowned at my bleeding fingertips. Then, looking up, I gave a horrible start.

The aluminum door of the shed was open, and upon its rough threshold stood the owner of the manor: a rich stately man dressed in a black suit and with an elaborate mustache. Somehow, he reminded me of a butler. He was staring at me with huge eyes.

"Sir," I pleaded, wringing my hands together. "please, I wasn't trying to take anything, I was just hiding -"

"GYPSY!" He yelled, nearly bursting my eardrums. "GYPSY! BANDIT! GUARDS!"

Swearing under my breath, I leapt up and shoved him aside, breaking into a run. I hadn't gone far until I saw horses and riders riding my way, all bellowing at me. I whirled around and ran the other way until a pair of strong hands tightly gripped my arms. I struggled aggressively against the grasp until my captor forced me into the circle of guards, all of whom were glaring at me.

Cursing them all loudly, I whirled around and my dark, Egyptian eyes met the dark blue of someone else's.

I saw his face and paled.

**A/N:** A horrible way to end this chapter, I know, especially with a cliffhanger. To specify a little more, a really bad cliffhanger. But I had accidentally written on and on and on and I had to cut out the parts that belonged in the next chapter. Really. Otherwise, I would've worked on it a bit more and would've been more consistent with my writing style. But the story is progressing along fine, and I like the text voice...

**SO REVIEW, DANGIT! **Man, I will I never get tired of that line...


	2. A Palace Prisoner

**Claimer:** I've always wanted to write one of these... I OWN IT ALL! The entire plot is mine, no matter how horrible it may be... MINE MINE MINE MINE. Except for the fact that Gypsies actually exist... but the rest is MINE! And... yeah.

**A/N: **::sniff:: You're all amazing... really... _amazing_...

B13ZZEDP3T41 – Thanks for reviewing, Mimi! Thank you _tons_, _barrels,_ uh... boxes? Lol, I have your image done and I'm currently uploading it, but it's a bit belated. Stupid Frances. I am never naming anything I know Frances unless they are stupid and ugly. Remind me to review your work!

Arein – Luckily, her punishment is not a punishment at all. Her captor seems to have a soft spot for pretty girls . Please review this next chapter!

Malista – Lol, well you're wish is my command... literally. Here's the next chapter!

Autumn Faery – Thanks... I hope you review this chapter too!

Hope's Shahrazad – Hehehe... all I can say at the moment is that if Eszti isn't careful around this guy, she'll find herself headless. Thanks for the review!

Karli – Thanks! I feel special, lol... I'm so glad that you like the writing style, because I have developed a fondness for first-person writing now, especially for a strong-willed character. Their views are always fun to write. And I know how horrible it is to wait 5 weeks for an update on a story, so I try to update as fast as conveniently possible. I hope you don't hate me for the cliffhanger, but here's the next chapter!

Fairybells – Whoa, I kept you waiting and guessing for three days... don't hurt me! Please! But here it is now, accompanied by Eszti's "punishment". Hehehe... ::evil snicker::

Thanks for reviewing! Please don't abandon my story yet, it's not done! Here's the next awaited chapter...

**PS - **I Heart Reviews...

"Prince Clement, forgive us for having you brought out here to watch the capture of this bandit" – I hissed venomously at the guard talking – "but she was sneaking around the royal stables, my lord. Around Germont."

The guards – now off of their steeds – bowed low. Still in the prince's grasp, I glared at him through my long eyelashes, silently hoping he'd dissolve into dust somehow. He stared at me and regarded me contemplatively, as though wondering what to do with me. Finally, he gestured at his guards to stand straight and looked at them thoughtfully.

"Your presence is not required," he said in a rich, youthful voice. "I will take this young Gypsy lass as a prisoner in the palaces. You may all go, except for you Kenshire," he added to a quiet, lanky lad clad in a guard's mail.

My eyes widened in surprise. A prisoner in the palace? Was a horse really that valuable that a robber of the beast must stay prisoner in the royal palace? Livid, I narrowed my eyes at him, glaring daggers. All the guards exchanged glances, confused, except for the boy called Kenshire.

Prince Clement handed me to Kenshire, who led me to a horse. He grabbed my hips as though about to pull me onto the saddle, but I impatiently pushed his hands away.

"I can do it on my own, thank you," I fumed, sliding gracefully onto the horse's back. He watched me with unconcerned eyes and shrugged.

"If you insist," he said before climbing onto the seat in front of me. I held onto his waist reluctantly, lest I fall grievously while the horse gallops. The prince, who was seated onto his horse as though riding came to him naturally, watched me carefully and led his horse and the one on which I rode to the palace.

The palace was not far, but even from a mountainous distance the castle could be spotted. The front grounds were lined with exotic trees and flowers that seemed to bloom all year round. In the centre stood an elegant marble fountain from which poured waters that glistened like glass in the light midday sun. A wide cobblestone path in the form of a giant semicircle stood before the castle itself, broad enough to admit several coaches in a single line.

The castle itself was a marvel. Painted snowy white with edges of a most deep, majestic black, it seemed made of marble itself. A few sides revealed sides of gallant gold and blazing silver. Having grown up traveling and outside of luxuriant society, I had never been so close to a castle as bravura as the one of a prosperous country like Merilian, in which Arvette lies. Its many towers spiral grandly from the castle and its many courtyards are always accompanied by richly ornamented gardens.

As a young girl, I was always told stories that the king's castle in Merilian was built by many a sorcerer and sorceress of long ago. Now, in the present, I found no difficulty whatsoever in believing these stories. The white walls glistened with such an aura that felt as though they were wrought with magic.

Staring at the castle in awe, I started when I saw Kenshire waiting for me to dismount the horse. Defiantly acting as though I was in complete control of myself and could not be messed with, I slid off the horse's back and glowered angrily at Prince Clement. I didn't care that he was Prince Clement Bernard, son of Merilian's renowned King Ignatius and Queen Egeria, bearer of the authority to cut off my head at will. I would glare at him as harshly as I liked even if these moments were to be my last.

To my surprise, he smiled charmingly at me as he handed a servant his horse. I blinked in surprise. He wasn't upset that I was snooping around the royal stables? He had no plans to condemn me to a bloodied death? Was he _mocking_ me before I faced my ultimate doom!?

"And what do you find so amusing?" I snapped impatiently. He jumped at my less-than-courteous words. _He isn't used to rude insults_, I thought to myself as I studied his face. _Well, he'd better get used to them soon, because I have no intentions whatsoever to flower everything I say that is directed at him_.

"Why, nothing, of course," he replied, his tone threatening to turns into peals of laughter.

"Am I to be a prisoner in a dark, damp dungeon where I would rot until the end of time?" I said with mock concern. But really, I did mean what I said.

"No, you are to be my royal guest," he replied, still wearing that infuriating grin.

Wretched brat.

"Come, time is pressing and I haven't much of it to find you a room in the guest's quarters."

_Was he serious about this?_

With my constant grumbling, he and Kenshire escorted me to the guest's wing. It was a grand old building that was lightly decorated with giant garlands of pastel-colored flowers and several dark green vines with the distinct scent of wine. Inside, we met many servants, who all bowed and curtsied for Prince Clement and stared in awe at me.

We Gypsies rarely dared to show ourselves to the occupants of the palace.

My room was a spacious, fragrant one with green-and-gold curtains and decorations. There was a single, long tapestry on one wall bearing the great Merilian crest on it: a white knight's shield showing a crown of golden laurels. There was a single canopy bed within the room with a side table and a wardrobe. The wardrobe was opened to reveal an astonishing set of queenly gowns and several pairs of delicate slippers.

I whirled around and stared at Prince Clement.

"Is this a joke?"

"A joke? Certainly, no," he said with an arrogant smile. "I just find it quite ruthless to lock up pretty Gypsy lasses like you. I never liked Germont anyway."

My jaw dropped. Surely stealing from the royal family was a felony!

"You will be my guest, and you will not reveal to anyone that you are truly a prisoner. Or would you rather sleep and eat in a dungeon cell?"

I flushed. There was nothing I could say to that.

"So while you are my guest," he went on casually, leaning on a wall. "we might as well try to get along, lest I order your head off. What is your name, Gypsy?"

I would not tell him my true name. If any word of my capture ever reached anyone at camp, it would be my neck with Nen and Da. I would pretend I owned a different name, although Mariutza, Lorant, and Jenica would probably know the Gypsy who was captured. Hopefully they wouldn't tell.

And I would not let this haughty prince have the satisfaction of spoiling my name.

"Rozenta." I answered with false reluctance, glaring defiantly at him. "Will you ever return me to my camp?"

"If you behave."

Behave? As a roguish child would when being bribed or threatened? When did I suddenly become his servant, just because I tried to steal a horse? Moreover, a horse he didn't even _like_?

He was still wearing that insufferable smile, watching me carefully. I met his gaze with a steady glare. If I could've had just one wish in the world at that moment, it would be that his dark wavy hair would suddenly turn into a great clump of rattlesnakes that would bite repeatedly at his face until he let me go.

"Why are you doing this?" I seethed. He shook his head, grinning at me and suddenly seeming very stuck-up.

"Do be grateful, Rozenta. I pitied you, is all."

And he promptly exited my room.

The instant he shut the door, I collapsed onto the canopy bed, pounding my pillow and then burying my face in it. My head floated with the unearthly peaceful scent of my room as I calmed down, ever so slightly.

I didn't feel like a prisoner anymore. Now I felt like his pet.

In all my rage, I fell asleep.

I don't know when I awoke, but it was early in the morning. Half-asleep, I lay in bed and stirred slightly at the sound of soft footsteps and the light rustling of curtains. I opened my bleary eyes and saw a maid quietly bustling around, pulling out a gown from the wardrobe and opening my curtains. She stopped at the sight of me and smiled.

"Good, you're up," she said, smiling and gently prodding me awake. "Prince Clement would like to see you soon, after you've been fully fed and dressed."

Reluctantly, I got out of bed, bathed, and dressed. Before heading to the royal courtyard, I spoke with the maid, Eder, who was actually quite friendly. After confiding my true circumstances with her, she smiled sympathetically.

"Prince Clement is a kind prince, no matter how haughty he can be. He's never really sent anyone to prison unless he thought they rightfully deserved it, and if they had to be his prisoner, he would treat them like a guest. Like you." she said.

"But I don't want to be his guest! I just want to return home! Is that so hard?" I ranted, pacing stiffly around my room. Eder tilted her head thoughtfully.

"He will return you home one day," she said, nodding her head, "You can be sure of that."

"He will not. He is just a conceited airhead who enjoys locking up Gypsies when they've done nothing wrong."

"He will soon see how strongly you feel about this and free you. I assure you..."

But I didn't listen. _This dreamer is too soft-hearted for her own good_, I thought bitterly, finally resigning myself onto my bed, sighing. _I will never return home, at this rate._

I should never have stolen that horse.

**A/N: **Ahhh! Fluff! Ahhh! ::hides from the mob:: Sorry, but school has scrambled me like a sorry egg lately, really. And I finished this earlier, but I couldn't post it because of Hurricane Frances. I live in Florida, US, and moreover I live in Miami. Wonderful, isn't it? It's driving everyone up the wall. I might not be able to go online for a tidbit after this hurricane if I come through it okay, so forgive any future delays.


	3. Breakfast Squabbles

**A/N:** Sorry it took so long to update! School, again... my geography teacher thinks it's funny to give us project after project after project and that made us want nothing more than to see her shrink and to have the chance to just step on her. Yeah. But here it is, and that's all that matters... right?

**PS** – I've no time to answer all reviews individually, but email me if you want a personal response (which I highly doubt you'd do, considering how long I'd take to reply)... and be sure to read/review :-)

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**Chapter 3: Breakfast Squabbles**

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Eder prodded me and berated me to get off my bed and to meet Prince Clement, but I lay glued permanently to my temporary bed sheets. They gave more promise than any of Prince Clement's subjects ever could, comforted me in their own way. I didn't look at Eder as she stood by the door, feet apart and firmly in place, fists on hips, chin raised slightly, and warm brown eyes ablaze. Had I not been too busy drowsing and swearing incessantly under my breath, I would've wondered if this woman had ever lived one part of her life as a royal. The way she expressed her indignity and irritation certainly made it seem so.

"Milady, his Highness does not expect you to dawdle. What would he say if he came up here and saw you lazing on your bed, sprawled like that, after all he's done for you? Don't say you'd be without shame!"

"Oh, Eder, I do not care what Prince Clement thinks."

"You do not care? Sincerely? Well dear, you'd be saying different if he hauls you before the council and orders your head on a silver platter."

"He wouldn't dare."

"Still, you cannot spend the entire day moping!"

"I can too."

Eyes flashing, Eder's mouth snapped open to release another set of scolding words, but she did not have time to say anything. The door creaked open and in came a petite girl with the biggest, prettiest hazel eyes. She looked barely 10. Her presence surprised both Eder and myself.

Recognizing a tense moment, she bit her lip nervously and trembled, her big eyes bulging in surprise. Pretty as they were, they seemed tragic. I suspected that she spent more than one night crying in her blankets.

"Lady Rozenta, his Majesty requests your company for breakfast after you've dressed. He will not take 'no' for an answer," she said timidly.

Eder nodded with a maternal air, smiling fondly at the young girl. "Thank you, Marcella. Also, bring up Elaine to help Lady Rozenta dress, if she has the time. If she is not available, please bring Priscilla."

"Is Prince Clement dining alone?" I asked her anxiously, feeling no particular desire to confront the queen and king after attempting to steal a horse. Then again, Prince Clement probably wouldn't have mentioned it to them, but I feared I'd give myself away anyway.

Marcella nodded. "King Ignatius and Queen Egeria have gone traveling to the kingdom of Kione, leaving Prince Clement to rule for the summer. He is a good prince and has brought Merilian good fortune."

I could've snorted in disbelief, but held it with a noblewoman's dignity. Of course, Marcella would've found it peculiar for a Gypsy to take up a noblewoman's attitude, but I was being sardonic. We were never that stiff and formal.

All I said was, "Well. Hmm. I suppose."

Eder eyed me warily, though I stayed silent. Marcella noticed nothing and stepped lightly out of my chamber, having done her duty and looking for this Elaine I was hearing about. The instant the door clicked close, Eder spoke, with a disapproving tone.

"Prince Clement is not so bad. Arrogant, yes, but he does not let it affect his decisions. Overall, he is a good man."

"I doubt that. If he had any heart at all, I'd be in my Gypsy camp. Why he wanted to keep me here locked up I do not know. I am of no use in any political dispute, and I absolutely refuse to take up the role of a Gypsy representative."

"Do not speak of him so! He is a good prince, though a bit stubborn and confident. When left to his own devices, he keeps the country in prosperous conditions! Despite how much he smirked, Rozenta dear, he gave you a noble's room in place of a prison cell!"

Clenching my jaw, I said nothing. That much was true, at least, but his smirking infuriated me to no end.

The door slipped open again, letting in a beautiful, slender, red-haired woman. She wore an expression of ultimate serenity, with only her lips curved slightly up with a contented look. Nothing else in her face expressed emotion.

"Lady Elaine," Eder greeted with a deep nod. Elaine returned it, smiling a smile that – oddly, since she seemed a pleasant woman – did not reach her eyes. It seemed that no emotion could reach her eyes: not joy, sadness, anger, or surprise.

Her tranquil gaze switched to me and she smiled a bit wider in greeting. I nodded lightly to return it.

"Lazy Rozenta..." Elaine said. Her voice had a dreamy, vague quality that intrigued me. "I am so pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Lady Elaine, the beautician for the royal guests. Little Marcella found me a bit earlier and said that you needed me. May I inquire the occasion?"

"Simply to meet Prince Clement for breakfast," Eder answered. This did not perturb Elaine. She nodded in understanding and seemingly glided to my wardrobe.

While scrutinizing my gowns and not looking at anything else, she spoke conversationally to Eder. I listened intently, knowing they wouldn't mind.

"How is Marcella doing, Eder? Is she eating now?"

"I guess so. I asked Cook Brinya and she seems to think so. But she still seems a little sad, doesn't she?"

"Sad is an understatement, Eder. I spoke to maid Sonya a few days back and she told me that she had heard Marcella weeping in her room. The poor dear... I did not expect King Ignatius to simply take her as a servant. It is not her fault Leanne died."

The two fell silent and a tense moment of quiet followed. I sat upright on my bed, staring at the two in turns. Eder's face had sadness written all over it. Elaine's was an unreadable mask, though it seemed to bear a stony expression, one of sadness as well. Finally, Elaine sighed, her eyes still not seeming to match her emotions.

"Poor dear. We all miss Leanne, but no one has the right to hand the blame to Marcella. Leanne had a good heart, and a heart of gold when it came to her daughter. I doubt the royals know what Marcella is going through, having the blame of her mother's death on her and having to spend the rest of her life a servant."

Eder nodded in solemn agreement. "They've no right, but we've not much opportunity to say it. Marcella will heal with time, and perhaps progress through the servants' ranks. You never know."

A vague smile touched Elaine's lips, and her lips only. "Yes, we never would know with these things." To me, she said, "Come, Lady, and see what you'd like to wear. You must look suitable in Prince Clement's presence."

I slipped off my bed and came to the wardrobe, eyeing them all carefully. Elaine pulled out a pink dress, a blue dress, a green dress, and a gold dress. She laid them individually on the bed and stood back, gazing at each in thought.

"The gold is too gaudy for a breakfast," she said with finality. I nodded and examined the midnight blue one.

"This too is too formal. For a ball, perhaps, it'd be perfect, but not for a breakfast."

Eventually, we peacefully compromised on the green one, which was a forest green threaded with gold. After dressing, Lady Elaine explained it her duty to also do my hair, which she found very much to her liking. My hair was long and wavy and thick and silky soft, as well as dark as coal. She enjoyed working with my hair and I saw the result in the mirror with gratitude and admiration.

She had done my hair into a solitary braid, plaited with gold links. I had seldom done braids in the Gypsy camp, since we loved our hair loose, and none of our rare braids were as excellent as the one Elaine did. I beamed in satisfaction.

"Thank you." I said gratefully, patting the top of my braid gently.

"Thank you, Lady. You can call on me as often as you like, so long as it is not petty. This is your first breakfast as a royal guest, so you must look impressive. And you do. Come, let us meet Prince Clement."

Eder escorted me into the dining hall, where I saw Prince Clement idly eating breakfast with an open book perched on a water jug. I did not curtsy, but immediately sat into a chair two seats from his Royal Highness. He did not look up at my entrance and kept his eyes on his book. My pointed cough, too, was ignored.

Miffed, I spoke irately, not caring if he'd take it against me.

"Excuse me, Prince."

He looked up and greeted me with an idle smirk, taking an apple from the breakfast basket and passing it to me. I took it with caution and piled various foods onto my golden plate.

"Good morning, Rozenta. Did you think of me at all last night?"

I nearly choked on my bite of apple. Coughing with my hand firmly over my mouth, I glared at him through my eyelashes, setting down my apple and swiftly taking a deep gulp of juice.

"Think of you? Did I have to?"

"I just thought that you would, considering how I wouldn't let you go."

"Well, I did imagine your death in many ways, but none that seem likely to happen." I narrowed my eyes darkly, my full lips twisted into a frown.

He laughed, for some unimaginable reason, just sat back and let out a rich, youthful laugh that was pleasing to the ears. I frowned deeper, wondering what in Merilian's name he found entertaining. Perhaps I was wittier than all those fluttery court ladies he would flirt with at balls, but it was not my place to criticize their intelligence.

"Pray tell, what did you imagine?" he asked when his laugh ended. I stared at him in wonder. Normally anyone would've been slightly insulted and would've retorted in a similar manner, or else coldly ignored me. No one would extend the comment further by asking in detail how I imagined their death.

Miffed again, I spoke without enthusiasm.

"Firstly, I imagined you drowning in the lake with your knights laughing on the shore, not to mention myself. What say you to that?"

He grinned broadly, enjoying my irritated declarations.

"That is certainly unlikely. Trained personally by Lord Giovon, who I must say is an excellent swimmer, I had excelled in swimming. I wouldn't drown in a common lake."

How I would've loved to say, "Oh, so his Royal Highness must have his own royal lake in which to drown?"! I wrinkled my nose and rolled my eyes. Yes, I know, very unwise in front of royalty. But Prince Clement said nothing, still grinning like a madman with that smirk still on his face, his book still propped open on the water jug.

"I imagined you being beat in a duel."

"Impossible. Lord Giovon taught me and I am invincible."

His grin widened. I scoffed. Such bold words... I had never seen him fence before and now I eagerly wished to see him go against the greatest knight in all the kingdom. If he'd lose.

"Then I imagined you being poisoned."

I expected a derisive leer, but his face darkened and he scowled. His scowl did not match his grinning, mischievous sort of look. Worried that I offended royalty, I looked away.

After a tense, stretching moment, he spoke. His voice was tight and curt and oddly formal. In his lighthearted voice, the sharp contrasting effect almost made me shiver. It did not seem that he spoke so seriously so often.

"Do you know, Rozenta, that I could prosecute and behead you for saying something so deadly to the royal family? Poison is not taken lightly. What you said could almost pass off as a threat."

He sat stiff in his seat now, as though it were a throne, and watched serenely as I paled considerably. Beheaded? Threat? Poison? _Beheaded?_ Suddenly, I fell into a daze and my entire body felt numb with panic.

Just as suddenly, he dropped his serious manner and let out a bark-like laugh, his face brightening. If I still weren't in a daze, I would glowered and thrown something at him to make him quiet. Then again, if I weren't in a daze and if he wasn't royalty.

"You should've seen the look on your face," he barked, still chortling. I flushed and narrowed my eyes angrily.

"Excuse me, your Majesty, but I didn't know you had the audacity to be so prankish, being trained by the court and nobles and all." I spoke with a sardonic, syrupy voice that dripped with sarcasm and disgust. He responded brightly, having finished laughing but still grinning infuriatingly. If he wasn't royalty, I'd have taken a handful of his dark hair and snatched it out from the roots. He irritated me so.

"Please, call me Clement. And yes, I've been trained by lords and nobles, but no, I do not care to play their stiff game of lies. If you don't mind, I'd rather show the world my true personality, and this is it."

I bit back my biting remark about his personality (So I suppose you think irritating, rude, and immature would make a better impression?), which I knew would upset him for sure, and I continued eating in silence. Prince Clement said nothing else, and the meal progressed in that silent manner.

Breakfast was far from simple, even with only two servings: the main course and the side dishes. For the side dishes, a surly looking butler strode in precariously carrying a great bowl of caraway seeds, apricots, and plums all lightly covered in cream and honey – according to Prince Clement, this delicacy, megnigna, was trademark to Merilian – while another butler brought in a tray of _kuchen_, German coffeecakes. For the main dishes, a maid brought in a tray of croustade, stacks of oatcakes, and a great bowl of plain cottage pudding. I was surprised with all the richness for a solitary breakfast meal, and I only made a face when Prince Clement laughingly stated that breakfast was the most important meal of the day.

We Gypsies were used to the simple wine, veal, rye bread, vegetable stews, seedcakes, and perhaps pudding on a day of celebration. I had never seen so many rich foods in my life. I ate happily, making no effort to even start conversation and lose precious minutes of eating.

"You know, Clement," I said after forcing down a fourth kuchen – they were surprisingly good. "You eat richer foods everyday than my fellow Gypsies have probably imagined, and yet no one makes an effort to feed those who've gone hungry. This could feed them for days." I dug my spoon a third time into the bowl of megnigna and while waiting for his answer, my spoon found its way into the cottage pudding for a second time.

He looked up from his book, thoughtful, and took a sip of juice. As I ate, now attempting to make myself seem tidier under his gaze, he surveyed me, lost in thought. I could practically see the wheels working from the side of his head, and probably hear them too. I finished my cottage pudding lightly and met his gaze, steady and unwavering.

His personable face was serious, his cobalt blue eyes calculating and thoughtful. I could make nothing out of it. I looked down at my petite bowl of megnigna and stirred my cottage pudding idly with my silver spoon, watching the thin, sweet seeds popping in and out of the thick, snowy layer of dessert.

"You're right," he said seriously, though not in his previous ominous way. Rather, he was deep in thought. "I've always tried telling Father he should have a representative with a peasant's perspective. He will not listen; but he'd strain his ears for Lord Dirwyll's advice, and he states that easy food would be bad for the economy. _He_ believes that people must work for anything free and that once you give something without taking, people become accustomed to it and become spoiled. _He _believes that, but I do not." The last he added slightly to himself, his gazing wandering from mine and down into his bowl. The poise almost made him look innocent.

"Dirwyll believes _that_? How can he? I don't see _him_ having to work hard for a living," I fumed, outraged. He could say no such things without having been in the situation in the first place! "Someone must speak out!"

"And you have," Clement said seriously, nodding deeply at me. "Which is why you'd be a good peasant's representative. I really thought you'd be useless, but I guess I am wrong."

I stared at him, my spoon sagging uselessly into the pudding, all thoughts of finishing breakfast gone. Representative? Me? I was barely 16, and most certainly inexperienced. Nothing I could say could be supported by any concrete experiences of my own. The job was not suitable for me.

"No!" I exclaimed, glaring. My temper flared. I knew they'd find a way to use me, prisoner though I was, and I could've kicked myself for not thinking on the possibility. He grinned, the roguish light now returning to his face. I clenched my jaw and glared daggers. If looks could kill, he'd have been burnt out of existence.

"I knew you'd say that. The Gypsies need you, and the peasants need you. You're probably the most strong-willed Gypsy that I've ever met."

"I'm most certainly the only Gypsy you've ever met long enough to learn her personality."

"Actually, no. I once had a Gypsy friend, Lieron. I treated him like a lord, and he treated me like an everyday friend. Perhaps you've met him?"

Again, I was surprised. Lieron Dairin had been in a spot of trouble with the Merilian royals once, but he returned happy and fresh and rich. I wondered if I'd ever return to my Gypsy camp happy and carefree. The possibility was still so close, yet so far.

"Yes, I have," I said quietly.

"Good. You understand me. So you will speak to my father upon his return about representing your Gypsy camp?"

"No!" I half-yelled, rising swiftly from my chair and stalking like an angry cat out of the breakfast room. He did not try to stop me, and said nothing at all.

Before closing the heavy, gilded doors, I chanced a glance back. Prince Clement had returned to his book as though nothing had happened, the exact image of how he was upon my arrival, excluding the exuberant meals scattered on the table.

He was wrong. I'd never understand him at all.

**A/N:** Wow, I wrote a lot... it wasn't supposed to be this long and I was supposed to have another event but 11 pages is more than enough for one chapter. The ending was dramatic anyway so I left it alone :) I have a handful of nifty notes for 'A Gypsy's Tale' anyways, so I'm not complaining. Although not much really happened, it opens up a chunk of the story (I think) so no flaming. I don't like flaming.

There's a drop down menu with a very pretty 'Submit Review' button on it. See it? Good.


	4. Teasing

**A/N:** I know I take forever to update, which has probably put me into all of your bad books, but please forgive me. School is horrible, and although high school is probably ten times worse, seventh grade is bad too. (Yes, I'm only twelve. And in seventh grade only.) School is probably the most used of all excuses ever, but it's true! Anyway, I can't find the time and patience (I'm hazardously low on that these days, even when I've been born with only one-fourth of natural patience to begin with.) to write labeled, tidy little individual notes to everyone (and bolded too! ::has a conniption::), fun though it is. Maybe on a good day but... again, I've no patience.

Thank you for enduring my heated ramblings, and now enjoy this chapter, if you can. And review, if you've forgotten.

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**Chapter 4: Teasing**

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For the rest of the afternoon, I had secluded myself into a cozy corner of the library, having changed into a dark gown and having convinced Elaine to satisfy herself only with braiding the first few strands of my hair, although she fought valiantly for an elaborate five-strand braid. Throwing myself into a squashy armchair by the fire, I spent the time devoutly reading through several thick novels, some romance, some drama, and some adventure. I had been the only one in my circle of Gypsy friends to have a hobby with literature, with my hot blooded temper and my iron will. Only reading could calm me in my worst moods.

All day I remained like this, and for a good chunk of the next day as well. I skipped breakfast, although Eder snuck me some porridge from the kitchens and Elaine managed to send me some a tiny bowl of honeyed seedcake. The two rapidly became my friends; Eder would come into my room and cheer me with her jokes and stories and Elaine would sneak me admirable things and would entertain me with gossip. Surprisingly, she knew at least one secret of every servant in the castle.

There was even a day when Elaine's placid, aqua eyes lit up a bit from excitement.

In the library, I had managed to read up to half of a disgustingly dramatic romance before Eder and Elaine slipped into the near-empty library and hastily found my little hiding spot. Both seemed a bit miffed. My first guess was a new bout of lords and ladies that would never stop demanding, no matter how accurately the directions were followed. Those were the previous circumstances, anyway.

"Rozenta!" Eder called, Elaine right behind her. They pulled some armchairs close to mine and started whispering feverishly, though undoubtedly angry. Even Elaine seemed a bit ruffled, although her eyes could've been from a painting.

"Will you believe it, Elaine?" Eder snapped. Elaine nodded angrily, clenching her jaw and staring icily at me, though I was not the source of her irritation. Eder continued ranting, barely aware of my presence.

"Marguerite has _no_ _right_ to do that! Ordering us around and making us call her _queen_ – !"

"She has no right, Eder, and she isn't even officially _betrothed_ to the prince!"

I gagged, my story forgotten. Who was this Marguerite and how was she betrothed to the prince?

"Who?" I asked blankly. Eder and Elaine's flowing speeches cut off abruptly and they blinked, as though finally noticing I was here. They exchanged looks, and Eder sighed, a heavy sound of an exhaustion's doing. She seemed tired and worn, and Elaine took a deep breath too and let it out in a small, fluttery sigh. Her eyes, beautiful but cool, seemed sad and full of fatigue, expressionless though they were.

"Lady Marguerite Birigne de Maurine, possible betrothed of Prince Clement and an absolute pain in the arse," Eder heaved, gritting her teeth. I was a bit startled; although Eder was certainly expressive, she had never publicly denounced a lady or lord, and Elaine was similar. These two, however, spoke of her as though they would love nothing more than to see her flung into a pit of tar.

"And who is she? You speak of her as you would a spoiled courtier."

"Well," Elaine began, smoothing her skirts and resuming her usual self-possessed stance, her aqua eyes once again taking up the unreadable form. "Lady Marguerite is the daughter of Lord Giovon, trainer of Prince Clement. Lord Giovon is an excellent man, kind and strong and easy, though I have no idea what happened to Lady Marguerite. She is downright spoiled to the core. She's always been a favorite of King Ignatius for the betrothed of Prince Clement, though it's never been officially decided. Prince Clement has to agree to it first -"

Eder snorted loudly, saying derisively, "If he does, I'll wring his neck." I laughed and Elaine smiled, mumbling "As would I," before continuing.

"King Ignatius adores her for reasons most unimaginable, but Queen Egeria can see right through her and knows Marguerite doesn't care a sixpence for Prince Clement's personality and well-being so long as he is rich and royalty. She keeps telling him never to agree, and that's the reason the delay for the betrothal has lasted most of his life. If he does agree, Queen Egeria will be forced to as well and then Marguerite will become our... _queen_." The last word was emphasized delicately. Elaine's eyes immediately hardened into ice chips of turquoise and Eder growled in an undertone.

"How is this Marguerite wench like?" I inquired curiously, my novel completely forgotten now. Eder scoffed and Elaine frowned, and I knew instantly neither would flower Marguerite's name.

"Spoiled. Demanding. Stupid. She is blonde, blue-eyed, and quite pretty, but do not let that fool you. She is devious and backstabbing and she simpers a lot and giggles in this painfully high-pitched voice. It's like bringing a knife down a jagged, metal surface. She is nice to your face and abuses you verbally behind your back, and thinks everyone must bow down to her."

"Do us all a favor, Rozenta," Eder pleaded with me, "and do not oblige to any of Marguerite's whims. At all. Do not bring her wine, do not curtsy for her, and do not compliment her. Make her miserable. We will defend you all the way."

I nodded, completely unwilling to please Marguerite in any way possible. She sounded like an overgrown brat to me, and I enjoyed nothing more than giving brats what they deserved. This Marguerite wouldn't feel like the queen of the world after meeting me. After all, I could be anyone's nightmare if I put my mind to it. It was not difficult.

Elaine and Eder smiled approvingly and went off to their chores, which they had skirted whenever they could to see me. They were extremely behind on them and I did not stop them as they hurried off. I was left in the library to my novel, which I couldn't finish with much gusto anymore, and nearly fell asleep when a group of people swept imperiously into the library.

Hearing the heavy, silver-plated door creak open and a few voices, I started out of my drowse and sank into my armchair, flipping to my page in the book. After successfully navigating the page, I looked up.

A pretty, golden-haired girl swept into the library, blinking her blue eyes at everything and raising her chin unreasonably high. At her heels was a tall, lean young man of dark hair and eye and looking possibly to be roughly about the age of 20. And behind him, Prince Clement sauntered in, looking disgruntled.

My face darkened. What did they want now? Because I certainly recognized the pretty blonde whose attitude was too conceited to not be who I thought her to be.

Lady Marguerite sniffed and strode over to me, looking disdainfully haughty. Upon spotting Clement, she had strode over to him and clung as tightly as a snake upon his arm. This irked him, as his face revealed. Walking towards me, she simpered and extended the back of her insipid hand in front of my nose.

I was bemused. I stared at the ring-festooned hand and raised my eyebrows. Did she want me to kiss it or bow over it? Because I would certainly do nothing of the like.

She coughed pointedly, wiggling her fingers. I smothered a laugh.

"Well," she said in a wispy, oily voice, withdrawing her hand with evident displeasure. "I did not expect anyone to reach my standards of being of well breeding, except of course for my Clemmie!"

This knocked a laugh out of me. Prince Clement was glowering and glaring daggers at Marguerite, and then he glowered a bit at me. This did not affect me in any way, even if they all were of nobility. Only Prince Clement could sentence me to death, and Miss Marguerite could do nothing. In fact, I decided to push it a bit.

"Oh, Clemmie, you two would make the loveliest couple," I said sweetly, sarcastically batting my long eyelashes. He made a face. Marguerite, on the other hand, noticed nothing and giggled haughtily at me, pulling on Clement's arm.

"Marguerite, what have I told you?" Clement said angrily, pulling his arm loose. Marguerite trilled another shrill laugh and pulled his arm captive yet again. This time Clement did not try to stop her, but he certainly did not look happy.

"Lady Rozenta," Marguerite began, under the common impression that I was Clement's royal noblewoman guest from a faraway country. "Please, you simply must accompany us for lunch. Your presence is so – what is the word?" Clement mouthed something vulgar before Marguerite remembered. "Oh yes! Enlightening. And you must meet Bedivere," she added, gesturing to the dark-eyed lad who had been quiet so far. He nodded in greeting, smiling vaguely.

"Thank you, but I'm afraid I cannot –" I was just about to decline the invitation before Clement made a violent gesture, indicating that I _must_ accept. I refrained from making a corresponding gesture that was just as violent and rephrased what I was about to say.

"Thank you for the invitation, and I am _sure I will accept_," I said loudly, narrowing my eyes at Clement. He grinned, taking great amusement from my pain.

"Oh, how delightful! I am sure I will enjoy being your friend! You seem so fun! And you must call me 'Guerite, it's such a sweet name! Now Clemmie and I must go. He still has to introduce me to the other guests, especially the one from Kione! If I must be queen, then I must meet then! Till midday!" She giggled and steered Clement out of the library, chattering endlessly on the way out. Clement only groaned and moaned and said nothing intelligible.

I would've returned to my novel but Bedivere was still there, watching me thoughtfully. I sat down with grace and waited for him to take a seat. He did, and we spoke.

He was quite handsome, I must admit. As a Gypsy, I had no plans to flirt with any nobles, but he was only interested in conversation and that suited me just fine.

"Marguerite is quite fluttery. Are you her brother?" I asked him. He shook his head, seeming terrified at the thought.

"Over my rotting corpse, I am. But no. I am not from her country, but from Merilian. I am one of the knights' son, Sir Byron. What country do you come from?"

This required some quick thinking. I was certainly no noblewoman and could barely be called a "royal guest", but I did know some countries. Still, I made one up, seeing as they could travel to a city and ask about me, and get no desired answer.

"Elysia," I said promptly. I had taken the name of a country in a Gypsy story from the top of my head, but Bedivere showed no signs of disbelief. He nodded and said, "I have never been there. What is it like?"

Again, quick thinking. However, before I knew what I was doing, stories of my Gypsy camp were spilling from my mouth, unchecked but not mentioning any relations to the Gypsies, lest my cover would be blown.

"We are a fun-loving people, and the nobles are barely treated any differently from a mere commoner. Not in wealth means, I mean, but in ways of respect, and society is easy. We sit with nobles for dinner and gossip about the people in the next cam- um, house." I smiled toothily to hide my mistake. For some reason unknown to me, Bedivere laughed. His laugh was deep and low and smooth. The sound was so pleasing to the ears, like Clement's voice.

"I'd like that," he said, grinning. "It is quite hard to talk to someone when they're falling over themselves curtsying and bowing, especially as a knight's son. I intend to become a knight one day, so I might as well get used to the publicity that comes with it. Most of the time, the peasants are scared out of their bones of us, or else they hate us to the core."

"I don't believe that. Not with you. You're too nice."

"Well, not all of them know me personally."

Our conversation progressed like that. We talked about nobles, the injustice of arranged marriages, how the court should _truly _be (under this category did we share the most similar ideas), and I even tested my luck far enough to mention Gypsies. He told me about Lieron and laughed with me about the joking, witty Gypsy Lieron had always been. We verbally attacked Marguerite and probably criticized all of the royal guests (or at least, all the ones I met so far) and praised the servants for their honesty and wholesomeness.

With each and every word, I grew to like him more.

We did not do so much as look up when Clement entered the library, seemingly relieved to be out of Lady Marguerite's company but generally seeming tired. He sat in an armchair not far from us and observed us as we eagerly discussed the ways of the world.

I only felt aware of his presence when his steady gaze came to rest on me. His dark blue eyes seemed to take note of every aspect of my face, my hair, and occasionally my body. I tried to ignore him, however, but his study was hard to not notice. I felt the back of my neck heat up every time I thought about his gaze, but I refrained from showing it by fidgeting. My relief was beyond words when his gaze left me.

Prince Clement said nothing at all during the conversation. When Bedivere finally admitted that he had better take his leave, he seemed to hesitate with a sort of mental conflict. Then, unexpectedly, he leaned down and swiftly kissed me on the cheek.

I just stood there, surprised and witless, and then flushed. He smiled sheepishly and hurried off.

"Wasn't that pleasant, having a knight's son flirt with you?" Prince Clement teased, although I could hear a note of bitterness in his voice. It miffed me. If he was angry because we paid him no attention, then that just proved how spoiled that prince was.

"He's not a flirt," I said indignantly, heat rising to my face. I knew I was blushing again, uncomfortably this time.

Just as unexpectedly as the kiss, Clement took my hand and led me out of the library. Outraged, I tried to wrench my hand away and yelled a couple of angry obscenities, but he pulled out of the library with success.

When we were in the guests' hallway, he finally let go of my hand and laughed. I glared at him and punched him in the stomach. His laugh was cut off by a winded grunt, but he was still smirking.

"Harassment, Gypsy," he wheezed, amused. "I could have you beheaded in a second."

"I'd rather myself beheaded than manhandled by you."

"Are you sure about that?" he said with mock formality. Another, much harder punch sent him groaning.

"Positive." I snapped before stalking off into my chambers. When I took a glance back, he was still laughing, though still clutching his stomach.

My mind was racing, my blood still rushing from Bedivere's kiss. The heat once again made it to my face, but this time with delight. Once secured safely in my room, I sank into my bed, taking in the day's events.

While I was still deep in contemplations about Bedivere, my hand still felt Clement's own hand against it, still remembering the warmth. Somehow, this memory made my stomach writhe with more vigor.

If I had just known what would result from that day's complications, maybe I would've stopped it.

**A/N:** Bedivere is a cool guy, so please don't flame him, even if our "Rozenta" fits with Clement like a puzzle piece. There are a few things I want to get out straight before anyone interprets anything wrong:

1 – Prince Clement is certainly spoiled, but he had other reasons to be "miffed" upon the end of Rozenta and Bedivere's conversation.

2 – Answer to Areinha: Sorry about the Frances thing! Fine, I won't name anything _Hurricane Frances_, but Frances is good. I have a good friend named Frances anyway. But she (Areinha) brings up a good point about Eszti's point of view. Clement certainly is arrogant and irritating, but in her head Eszti exaggerates about him. She is just being stubborn and that's why we love her :D

3 – I'm sorry that the relationship between Eszti and Bedivere is going so fast, but I will not write a six-year's worth of visits and subtle hints of flirting. This will just have to be one of those really fast relationships, to fit my convenience.

4 – Prince Clement is not in love with Eszti... so far. ::grins evilly:: He is simply used to gaining attention from the pretty ladies (since he _is_ very handsome) and Eszti is not giving him the sort of attention that fits his preference. However, I must say that Eszti's looks and admirable personality make her quite desirable (if you exclude her fiery temper and hardheadedness).

And... I think that's it. ::shrugs::

So review!


	5. Boredom and Grass Blades

**A/N:** I have had a really bad day today and I choose not to elaborate. However, I've noticed that whenever I do have feelings to vent, venting them by writing and reading helps me produce a really good story. Yes, it's weird. It is now my official stress-relief plan. Isn't that interesting? I read over Chapter 4 again and decided that Marguerite must have a funny role in this one. I really enjoyed writing her sprightly little speeches, since they are based on someone I know and immensely dislike. So review, if I didn't make a total fool of myself.

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**Chapter 5: Boredom and Grass Blades**

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For the next week, Clement had made sure that I would accompany him with every outing he'd share with Lady Marguerite. I often tried to escape from having to attend these tea parties and little outings with that simpering she-devil, but Eder and Elaine found it as guaranteed entertainment and somehow found ways for me to attend anyway. This did not make me happy, and I did not know how they did that. I confronted Clement about this one day and he just laughed and said that he did not want to dine with evil alone. He thought it funny that I would suffer. Enraged, I hit him across the back of his head and stalked away, chin high and fists clenched at my sides.

Marguerite was pure evil rolled up being a pretty face.

I remembered well those words of Eder: "Make her miserable." and I kept to them as greatly as I could. Not wanting to cause an uproar, I chose not to verbally attack her in her face the day we went out riding but instead sort of made my choice of outfit _interesting._ As I've mentioned before, no one but Clement and Eder knew about my being a Gypsy. I had gone to the market and purchased some soft purple cloth, gold thread, some small disks of gold, and several gold bangles and gold bracelets. Then, isolating myself in my room, I spent the next entire days sewing and cutting and threading and weaving.

When I stepped in front of my mirror the evening I finished the work, I was garbed in Gypsy wear with my hair loose and decorated with a silk purple bandana, a long sleeveless gown of mystic purple with a slanted hemline from slightly above my knee to my ankles, an elaborate gold necklace hanging from my neck (made from the gold disks and the gold thread), and my many bangles hanging from my wrists.

I knew I'd get in trouble for this, but this was a bona fide sign of protest. To make it seem like a noblewoman's gown from Elysia, Elaine said I should wear satin slippers instead of rough shoes and that I should have added weak, translucent sleeves of silk that did not cling to my arms but hung loosely from their seams. To make up for this, I merely sewed myself a pair of silky gloves and called it enough.

I hid it carefully in the depths of my wardrobe and waited for the next morning, when we would all go riding.

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The next afternoon, when I was scheduled to meet Clement and Marguerite for an afternoon ride, I wore my Gypsy wear with a cozy jacket around my arms, in case it'd suddenly become windy or chilly, which it usually did. Their reactions were quite funny: Clement's jaw had dropped and Marguerite had reddened with... envy, I believe. This wear was much more comfortable than the flouncy, pastel pink dress that she wore. It must've been unbearably hot.

Outraged, Clement had stalked over to me before I knew it and hauled me into the back of the stables. I raised my eyebrows when he scanned my dress, his eyes lingering for a second on my the bits of my exposed legs. He blushed, coughed, and resumed glaring at me.

"Rozenta, what do you think you're doing?" he gasped, his hands on my shoulders trembling. I knew that he wanted nothing more than to shake the sense into me or to shake the stupidity out of me. I smirked and looked over his shoulder and spotted Marguerite, who was watching me with hatred and confusion.

"Wearing what all Gypsy women wear," I replied softly. His hands were now tightening on my shoulder as though he imagined them on my neck.

"You are supposed to be dressed as a noblewoman," he grated, even though his eyes were betraying him. Once again, they were straying to my legs. I wanted to slap him for that.

"Well," I began heatedly, although I was struggling to keep my tone flat and without emotion. "I could simply say that this is traditional Elysian wear, even for the nobles. It isn't too scandalous for the prince, now is it?" I asked, blinking innocently. His gaze abruptly returned to my face, his cheeks stained with pink.

But the usual, mischievous glint returned to his eyes. He staggered back as though hurt, but the taunting grin he wore remained the same, along with the naught hiding in his eyes.

"Too scandalous? Why, Rozenta, I have seen better legs in my life," he laughed. I narrowed my eyes darkly at him and, taking his ear between my thumb and forefinger, twisted it hard. He cried out and jumped aside, nursing his ear. I smiled brightly and finding the white stallion that was given me, Solomon, I mounted and stared down at him mock-imperiously.

Marguerite was on her mount, Annabelle, waiting for us. She glared a death glare at me and a hopeless look at Clement, which he ignored. His eyes were busy taking in every aspect of myself again, which sent my skin tingling, and he barely noticed Marguerite was there.

As we all rode on – Clement on his black stallion, Cyrus – Marguerite sulked slightly behind Clement and I. We did not notice this. We were too busy bantering about our favorite colors. Now that I truly think about it, there was actual no possible way to figure out how that topic came to be.

Blue was my favorite color, and his green. They weren't so different, really, but when you argued with someone like Clement, he wouldn't rest until he had the upper hand.

"Blue is diverse. It can be tranquil and exciting and noble, but green cannot." I snapped. Clement was still laughing (why? I do not know) and smiled at me fondly, though I was sure it was a mock. Still, I felt inclined to smile back, but I did not. I stared ahead with defiance and examined the sky, which was blue.

_Blue is truly better than green! _I thought indignantly. _Why won't he yield?_

"What?" I asked, quite rudely. He opened his mouth to say something, still grinning and chortling, before Marguerite on Annabelle galloped up to us, between Clement and myself. She had a smile pasted on her face, although when she looked at me her eyes screamed abhorrence.

"Oh, Clement love, we must ride together again! Except... alone, next time." She finished by twirling a golden curl between her fingers and batting her eyelashes. The surprised and dreading look on Clement's face made me laugh out and gallop forward, faster this time. Faster than a trot.

Now I was riding. It was not really windy, but the speed of Solomon's riding made it seem so, and soon I was riding and leaning forward on my mount's back. The faster I pushed Solomon to go, the more the wind played through my hair wildly and let it thrash about my face. Somewhere along the ride, my bandana flew off, but I did not care. Riding came so naturally to me, though this was my first time. It was as though riding was a part of my nature. Riding wildly, riding free. The sound of the horse's hooves hitting the floor fell in time with the beats of my heart. I let the fresh, clean air fill me and I tossed my head back lightly, so that the strands of hair clinging to my neck flew back.

I heard laughing somewhere beside me. I started; the walls I had built around myself during that ecstatic moment of riding all fell apart and looking wildly around, my gaze fell on Clement, who was riding just as fast. He was grinning widely and laughing, though not really saying anything.

I slowed Solomon down by a tiny grove of cherry blossom trees, where there was a gentle shower of delicate, pink petals. There, I slid gracefully off of my horse and slipped under the showers. My skin prickled with delight; a petal slid onto my nose and lightly off. I knelt down, oblivious to the rest of the world around me, but my face still faced the sky. More petals hit my face, fragrant and mellow and fragile.

I started as a hand brushed across my face and pushed the petals away. The hand was so light, perhaps even lighter than the petals. And hesitant; the hand was hesitant. My head whipped down and my eyes snapped open. And there was Clement, kneeling right in front of me and I didn't even notice.

I was angry when he broke my moment of bliss, but not by much. Sending him a mock-reproachful look, I sat crisscrossed under the tree and pulled my hair over one shoulder. Stroking it, I watched him warily as he sat down beside me, his roguish expression softening.

"You love to ride, don't you?" he asked, his voice sincere and thoughtful instead of its usual prankish and taunting. He looked quite handsome at the moment, fun but honest, amused but hesitant. The sun shone on the dark waves of his hair. His dark blue eyes glimmered fondly at me, like before. He was leaning, relaxed and calm, against the tree. But I was forgetting my place; I was a Gypsy who hated him and had him hate me back, and I could not think him handsome. I pushed away those thoughts and watched him with intent.

"No. Actually, this was my first time," I said, absently smoothing my skirts.

His face lit up with admiration and surprise, as did his grin, although the expression hiding behind his eyes were still so roguish that I wanted to box his ears. "Really? Your first time? You ride almost as well as I."

I snorted scathingly. "Egotistical maniac. I rode finer than you, and you have probably had years of practice. I, on the other hand, picked it up while finding a comfortable and sturdy way to sit and finding a firm hold on the reins. Solomon is an obedient horse," I added thoughtfully.

His face fell slightly at my insult. "I was joking, Rozenta. My, but you're edgy. I can't talk to you without getting an insult, now can I?"

I put on a mocking, thinking-hard expression and shook my head, my black, Gypsy waves tumbling over both shoulders. "No, I suppose not. Has it happened yet?"

He shook his head, now staring at the sky's horizon as though lost in thought. "No, I don't think so. But I still await the day," he replied quite absentmindedly, as the words simply spilled unchecked from his mouth.

He wasn't being sarcastic. I watched him cautiously now, a pensive frown on my face.

We spent another moment or so in silence, his stare still on the horizon and my hand once again pulling my hair over my shoulder. The afternoon was reaching its usual lull that indicated the coming of the sunset, and still we sat in silence. He seemed perfectly content like that, staring ahead and yet staring within. I, however, couldn't stop myself from fidgeting and I sat under that tree plucking grass blades and ripping them neatly in half. Soon we were in completely different worlds; me in my world of boredom and grass blades and him in his world of contemplating and reflecting.

My hand, groping around the floor for a lengthy piece of grass, found a flower instead, hidden tidily behind one of the tree's roots. I gently plucked it out; it was an off-white sort of color, with star-shaped petals that curved slightly and with a center that was shaped like a star. My eyes lit up as I recognized the plant; this was the flower _astirae_, or in the tongue of the Merilian (for _astirae_ was in my tongue), healing-star.

_Astirae_ was a miraculous, healing flower that I often used with Lorant, Mariutza, and Jenica whenever we studied herb lore. It numbed physical pain and proved a useful salve as well as being incredible in calming grief and emotional pain. So far, it was my favorite flower. Actually holding _astirae_ in my hand again brought me memories of my camp, and I hastily scrubbed away the pending tears. I would keep it, and either keep it as a keepsake while I rotted in this accursed palace or if I'd ever return home, I'd use it in my studies again.

When I looked up, I saw Clement was gazing at me, concern etched into all of his features. I couldn't meet his eyes; I swore I'd never let him see me cry and a flower was about to make me break down. My fist almost clenched over the delicate _astirae_, but I was careful not to.

"You're crying," he said quite bluntly, staring at me. I glared at him and gazed at the tiny white flower in my hand, and I searched the ground for more. But there was nothing there but grass. And Clement's gaze was still on me.

"Yes, isn't it amazing? Rozenta the Gypsy girl can shed a tear... who would've known?" My voice dripped with sarcasm. I expected Clement to sneer or to laugh, but he did neither. He continued to watch me, arms crossed and now sitting straighter.

A moment of silence. Then...

"You know, stealing a horse isn't a horrible offence, even when it involves royalty. I can release you any day."

My attention was caught. My head shot up and I stared at him, disbelieving.

He took a deep breath and went on. "But, I will not."

Anger bubbled in me, boiling my blood. I glared at him incredulously and placed the _astirae _on the ground, lest I crush the poor thing to its end. He would release me, and he would release me when, where, and exactly how I would say!

"And why not? You let it pass from your lips! Stealing a horse is not a terrible offence! Why keep me here? Do you wish to turn me into a servant?"

His stare bore into me, deep in thought and not bearing a little bit of prankishness at all. "As you've probably guessed, my mother and father are not here. They are in Kione until the end of the summer, but I desire my father's council nonetheless. I don't know why, but I don't feel too compelled to let you go so soon. And Bedivere agrees."

This snapped something in me, something outraged beyond words. I shot up and carefully holding onto my precious _astirae_, I found my horse, mounted him, and galloped off.

I could sense Clement right behind me, but I ran on anyways. Solomon rode as he did before, fast and free.

- - - - -

I meant to return right to my quarters, but Marguerite stopped me. She was there in the stables when I arrived, simpering with a burning furnace of hatred behind the smile. Her pretty blue eyes were chilly. As I carefully tied Solomon's reins by his stall, I did not expect the best.

"An Elysian noblewoman, I hear," she said, her voice quite fluttery. Noble or not, she was still above me as a possible betrothed of Prince Clement. I stood rooted to the stable floors, meeting her steady gaze for steady glare. She looked at Solomon and stroked him with a pallid hand, her blue-eyed gaze affectionate upon the horse for a minute. Instantly, my anger was piqued. She had no right to pet my horse like that, not when it was now rightfully mine. Instinctively, my hands tightened around Solomon's reins and I too laid a tan hand on the horse's mane.

"He gave you a horse better than Annabelle," she twittered, feigning hurt. "I rode Solomon before. Obedient and fast and strong. He would've been mine, had I not had an unfortunate... _accident_ with the beast. Annabelle is quick, but she is too vain for her own good. Clement favors you."

I snorted derisively, finishing the tying of the reins. I knew for a fact that her _accident_ with the mount included him bucking her off. I knew Solomon, though I had him for only one day, but that span of time was enough for me to tell that he favored strong and spirited riders, and Marguerite was not a strong and spirited rider. And the way she kept bringing up Clement... I was still angry at him, still unable to believe his obstinacy. I sighed, in frustration and despair both, and looked Marguerite in the eye again.

It was my turn to talk.

"Prince Clement is a fool and does not favor me at all. He gave me Solomon because I grew fond of the horse at first sight and he knows how stubborn and unyielding I could be. Besides, Solomon liked me as well. I could not ride any other horse without making a fuss. What is your business here?"

Her mood changed instantly. She brightened and twirled a golden curl around her finger as she talked, tilting her head. The poise was strange. Relief was evident on her face, but as she watched me her blue eyes still shone with hatred and anguish. There was no way for me to reason out why, and I did not care.

"To invite you to a luncheon, dear! It is tomorrow... can you attend? Delightful! Bedivere will be there, and Clement, and myself! I look so forward to it! And you are right. Clement does not really like you. Every time he looks at you, I can feel contempt. And I should know. He and I are one, did you know? Well, I must be off! Lady Vanessa is wanting to see me, to discuss what I shall wear tomorrow! I suppose a periwinkle blue summer dress would be marvelous, wouldn't it? I shall see you at dinner!" And she flounced off with a toss of her golden head.

I stared after her in incredulity. Then, every trace of my smoldering anger wiped out of its own accord and I threw back my head and laughed. Laughed loud, and liberally, and unendingly. A stable boy who came in a second later jumped at the sound and stared wildly around in fright before backing out. But I barely noticed. I felt my head ready to explode. Never before had I met anyone so... _foolish!_ And I hung around Mariutza, who was as crazy and reckless as a friend could ever be, and I thought that I would know foolish!

And yet, this was beyond anything foolery I had ever witnessed.

Finally, my laughter wore off. I was still in a giggle fit as I made my way to the parlor, feeling quite eager to find a fantasy novel that I had left there sometime back. I giggled on my way out of the stables, through the lengthy grounds, into the guest's quarters, and searching for the guest parlor.

When I opened the door, I instantly saw Clement lethargically seated in the squashiest armchair, idly reading from my fantasy novel.

I was too tired to be angry. I sighed, exasperated, and threw up my hands. Like usual, he was smiling impishly, his cobalt eyes shining with laughter, as his gaze focused on me.

How he got here before me, I honestly do not know.

**A/N: **I personally liked this chapter, but I'm not the one reviewing. It wasn't _so_ bad... right? Well, I'm tired, I haven't too much to say, and I've still got a mountain of homework waiting for me. Grrr. So review and... at the moment, I'm totally witless, so please forgive me.

And by the way, has anyone read the _Daughter of the Forest_ by Juliet Marillier, or _Summers at Castle Auburn_ by Sharon Shinn? Those are probably my most favorite books besides the Wheel of Time series, the Harry Potter series, the Lord of the Rings, Little Women by Louisa May Alcott, and Ella Enchanted. ::reads my list again:: Hehe, I like reading.

And by the other way, does anyone have any recommendations for any books I should read? As you can tell, I adore fantasy and I adore fantasy in the medieval times (e.g. – _Summers at Castle Auburn_, _Daughter of the Forest_, and _Ella Enchanted_) and I really want to read more. If not medieval times, then something that is fantasy-fantasy-fantasy really-hard-to-understand-at-times fantasy books (e.g. – Wheel of Time and/or Lord of the Rings). If not, then maybe just a desperately good fantasy novel, I honestly don't care what category as long as it is good :D


	6. Torrent of Flames

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* * *

A/N: **Oddly, I happen to be feeling generous today (who knew this day would ever come?) and in a happy mood. So many reviews!! I know I take too long to update, but honestly, did you actually think for a minute that I'd update everyday? Anyway, I'm now providing answers to reviews, as I've had a good day :)

blueforest – Thanks so much! I hope I didn't make anybody wait to long... I sincerely do. I've been writing for a while so I guess that explains my age thing... and I don't really read vampire books, but I'll check out the Amelia Atwater Rhodes books though. They sound interesting :)

devilish guitarist – Thank you! I love Gypsies too... they possess all the coolness that those stuffy nobles lack... but except for Clement, of course, whom we all adore. Prisoner in the dungeon seemed kind of cruel and gives her no chance to get to know Clement, so I went for guest instead. It's been a key idea from the start, and I'm ecstatic that you liked it!

Fou Fou – I know, don't you love that? Their fights are so fun... when they're not serious. I think I'll make them fight over favorite desserts next...

Kadesh – Wow, thanks :) I really thought I didn't add enough detail, but I'm glad that I satisfied! Everyone seems to be suggesting Robin McKinley, lol... her/his books are definitely going on my list.

Arein – Eragon? No, but I have a friend who is reading it... is it good? Wait! Don't tell me! I wanna read it and find out for myself :D

Kerricarri – Lots of detail? Wow, lol. I have just been rendered speechless... not. Lol, thanks! I feel so happy and appreciated ... did you seriously think it was a novel? And I agree with you about Cinderella... that girl just has no will whatsoever. If you were enslaved by two stupid and ugly stepsisters and an equally appalling stepmother, wouldn't you run? Fight? Get angry? Especially when you're not leaving anything behind... but no, Cinderella's too sweet a lady. Ah well. At least I know Rozenta/Eszti shall be nothing of the sort ::grins maliciously:: That gypsy seeks trouble with her mulish head...

Stubble96 – Romance-fantasy-adventures... who doesn't love those? Luna Boks, you say? Did I spell it correctly? And thank you! See, I updated? Yes, it is a miracle...

chava – I like fast-paced... I hope I can manage to make it go at an appreciative speed instead of wasting time on filler chapters. Maybe I'll add just one filler chapter, for the drama-loving readers out there. And you're not exactly clear on why she minds being a noble? So you're wondering why she dislikes it? Well... I can answer that question. Gypsies have been prejudiced by nobles to be witches and enchanters and things of the sort (and I am not making this up!) for years and years and so it peeves Rozenta/Eszti that she has to take up such an act. And I suppose she doesn't enjoy life at court, as its so formal and wicked. Ah well. If I were her, I'd take advantage of it and boss people around. That'd be fun. And thank you for your suggestions!

sealednectar – My story has potential? Yay! I'm striving for fifty reviews by the end of the story, to keep my standards low as to avoid disappointment. And yes, I am twelve and it's so good to meet another middle-schooler. You are a middle-schooler, right? And I love L-J stories too, hate-love is another of my favorite reading fanfic-categories. Who doesn't love love-hate?

TrudiRose – Blue vs. green.... I had an argument recently with a friend regarding that and I suppose that's where I got the idea, lol. I was going for blue, as you can tell. And I am extremely glad you liked the riding descriptions, thank you and the day after my bad day turned out to be great. Thanks for reviewing!

You've all spoiled me, really... so can I expect at least 5 reviews for this chapter? Can I? Come on, 5 is NOT a lot...

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**Chapter Six: Torrent of Flames**

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Sad and pitiful though it is, I owed Clement for wearing such risky outfits during that day riding, nearly exposing my Gypsy identity. He would not leave me alone about this for the longest time until I shut the door to my chambers in his face, and immediately rued my actions. Such behavior was not to be done without consequence around royalty. Although I was immensely fortunate to have done that without any witness at all, word leaked out about it somehow. Through Clement, I'd bet my life upon it. Fluttery noblewomen in their bedecked layers of gown and little lace-edged fans passed me and began feverish whispering. Their subtlety was such that I could hear several words. I often grunted and continued on with whatever task I had been in the process of completing, but I knew that I would have to treat Clement better if I fancied having my head on my shoulders. I did not greet the idea with very pleasant thoughts, to say the least of it.

On that very day that I experienced the difficulties of being gossiped about, Marguerite whisked up to me and rescheduled her luncheon party. I knew why. She probably wouldn't want me in her presence for a while until all the foolish twittering died down, and then I could be seen with her again. Probably as another statistic in her popularity list. I didn't care. Clement insisted that I go, so I was forced to attend the luncheon, whether it was rescheduled to compliment me or rescheduled to affront.

I spent that entire day with Eder and Elaine, especially since both had the day off. Clement was out for the day on a ride with some nobles willing to do acreage business, something I truly couldn't care less about. All day long Eder, Elaine, and I sat in the parlor and chattered on about our past and occasionally we took a short walk around the castle gardens, where the other noble ladies did not even think to enter. This was precisely of my preference. After finishing a quick walk through a torrent of chilly wind, we returned to the guest's parlor, selected a quick book for me, and found squashy seats by the fire.

"I suppose I will enjoy this book," I remarked, briefly skimming the pages of my newly selected novel. "It is a fantasy based on the fairies of old. During the time of mages and sorceresses with the elemental arcane arts born into them. I remember reading a story of similar settings, except that they dealt more with elves and gnomes and things of the like. In our Gypsy camp, fairy tales and tales of all sorts were beloved by all, and a tenfold more by me." I frowned sadly while the memory of my Gypsy camp still lingered on my tongue.

"Who doesn't love a good fairy tale, now, girl? I cannot remember a time when a little child rejected the telling of such a treasure. The stories do such wonders..." said Eder in a maternal tone, warm and affectionate. She reclined in her seat and folded her hands idly on the arms of her chair.

Elaine, who was staring meditatively into the fire, broke her gaze and turned it to us. I nearly shivered; the feel of those blank, beautiful eyes was always frosty, no matter how happy Elaine herself would be. Oh, how I longed to question her about those eyes...

"I have," she said softly, barely audible at all. My brow furrowed in mild speculation, as that rarely ever happened, but Eder's bearing saddened. Upon seeing the hidden message in Elaine's cold, unfeeling eyes, she had tensed slightly.

"Who?" Eder asked anxiously, her tone tinged with horror. However, it did not take a scholar's mind and brain to figure out that Eder knew who it was, for the evident dread in her voice could not count for nothing. Elaine looked once again into the fire and spoke, her voice now a wintry monotone.

"Marcella. I tried to tell her a story a few nights ago, but she did not trust me. Did not even like having me in her room for too long, the poor dear. I don't suppose she'd trust anyone any time soon, considering all the injustice King Ignatius has put her through, ordering her to be a servant. I suppose she now believes herself to be responsible for Leanne's death, when we all know perfectly well that is not, at the least, true."

Eder forced a heavy sigh, her age finally showing through her facial features. Elaine, though young and beautiful, seemed capable of looking tired and worn as she stared into the crackling fire. Fire danced in her clear, frosty, silver-blue eyes. My book, barely opened at all, lay neglected in my hands. My fingers supported it loosely and it began to slip from my palm. It could've burst into sudden flames and I wouldn't have paid it much mind.

"What is Marcella's story?" I asked in a small voice, for I knew that this was a dangerous topic indeed. Eder looked sharply at me but Elaine's gaze came to me once again. "I would like to know," I said hurriedly, in response to Eder's chilly glare.

"Now, now, Eder," Elaine said softly, her dreamy voice like silver bells ringing through a sunny, winter day. "She deserves the right to know. She simply sits here while we discuss such serious terms, and without a clue! She's been quiet enough about it to earn the right to know."

Elaine relaxed in her chair and smoothed her skirts, which I noticed were usually silken or of satin. She couldn't possibly be a servant with such a salary to afford such things, so I guessed that she was one of the ladies-in-waiting for the queen or for the noble visitors. She was indeed beautiful, with a tall, slender, and graceful figure and red-gold hair like bright sunlight on autumn leaves. I had never noticed her beauty before, for her stolid eyes usually drew the most attention. She seemed quite young too, perhaps simply nineteen or so. I was surprised, but hid it and waited for Eder's response. Eder had glanced at me, taken aback, and then smiled warmly, nodding.

"I'm sorry. Rozenta _does_ deserve the right to know, and has been very quiet about it, the poor dear. Beg pardon I do, Lady. Elaine, why don't you tell? You know the story better than I, for you are the gossip queen of the castle."

Elaine smiled slightly at that, and I could've sworn on my grave that there was a slight, mischievous glint in her eyes. Just one, perhaps. However, that was such a rare ordeal that I grinned too, though for no apparent reason. The glint disappeared and Elaine resumed a clear, serious tone with which to tell her story.

"Well, it all began with Leanne Jadévorn, a lady-in-waiting who lived here in the palace. Everyone knew her well, and she was brilliant, outgoing, and absolutely beautiful. She had Marcella's huge – but not huge as in bulgy and unattractive – eyes, hazel streaked with gray and clear as two pools in spring. She was quite a sight, probably the most popular figure in the castle besides the royal family. With chestnut ringlets sweeping down her shoulders -"

_Wow_, I realized, _Elaine is quite the storyteller._

"and a dazzling smile – she had such a lovely smile that lit up her entire face. Well anyway, though it's never been confirmed, everyone in the palace knows that Leanne unknowingly attracted the attention of King Ignatius – Prince Ignatius, at the instant he met her. It was such a romantic story, though it one that suffered many a heartache and obstacle. Prince Ignatius was betrothed long since to Princess Egeria of Nufal, a tiny yet valuable country that we had gained through their marriage. Tongues wagged wickedly when word leaked out that Leanne became _pregnant _-" I gasped involuntarily at that. "- and nearly everyone had a new theory as to why. Each theory included Prince Ignatius, of course. But the Prince's reputation had to be protected and soon everyone was being told that the father of Leanne's baby – Marcella – was a merchant who lived nearby. He was bribed by money, I guess, to go along with the joke, but everyone knew better. Marcella's features are quite similar to King Ignatius', you know -"

"Wait," I interrupted, lost in the story. I couldn't have read anything that would've interested me more. Finally, the mystery of Marcella and Leanne was being cleared up for me. "How come Marcella wasn't being sent away? Is that not the custom for illegitimate girls?"

Elaine paused gravely, her gaze hard on me. Then she spoke again. I heard Eder shift uncomfortably in a seat nearby.

"She would've been sent away, but wouldn't it seem strange after Marcella was declared to have been the merchant's daughter? Everyone would wonder why such an action was taking place... unless the baby _was _Prince Ignatius's. Marcella, as a baby, lived with the merchant and Leanne, who was living with the merchant to play on with the trick. However, the merchant died a few years later from disease and due to the contagiousness of the ailment, Leanne and Marcella moved back into the palace. They lived on peacefully as rich ladies-in-waiting – for Leanne inherited the merchant's prosperous fortune – until very recently."

Elaine paused, her stare icily hard. I waited for the rest of the explanation but when one did not come, I frowned. I knew this wasn't it, that there was more, and this did not please me at all. This was merely the past and background, and the more interesting bit was still being kept from me. I could read it in the way Elaine and Eder uneasily exchanged glances, in the subdued pale of their faces. I did not acknowledge this directly, but they must've read the signs. I leaned back in my chair and traced the picture on the cover of my book with a slender finger, but every now and then my gaze would stray to Elaine and Eder. There was pensive frown on my face and eyebrows were slightly raised.

Finally, Eder blew her cover by releasing a strong sigh. I knew what this meant. This made me grin. I sat up and put my book unceremoniously away.

"She knows this isn't it, Elaine," Eder grumbled irritably, shaking her head at me. This only made my smile grow even longer. Elaine smiled, a smile that could never touch her cold eyes, and pulled her autumn's curtain of hair gently behind her shoulders. Her unwavering gaze never left me as she tidied her hair.

"Of course, Eder," she said peacefully, her tone serene. "Rozenta is a clever girl and not one to be underestimated. There is, indeed, more."

I laughed, a merry songlike sound that made Eder's grim expression break into a grin. "You'd think I'd be satisfied with that bit? There is more, or else you'd be a great deal happier. Tell me."

Elaine's smiled faltered. "Well," she began bleakly. "the rest of the story is not so bright. As I said before, there was peace and most rumors began to die down, much to the delight of the royal family. Still, no one could doubt their romance. The clues in the way they simply looked at each other spoke plainer than words. There was once a day when Leanne and Marcella went out to the market. And believe me when I speak of this, for all the witnesses gave me full accounts.

It started as a small fire show in the bazaar, with a fire-juggler and a fire-eater. Leanne and Marcella were buying items nearby, but not directly close to the show. Marcella, however, wandered from her mother's side and wriggled to the front of the crowd, stunned by the magical display of tricks with fire. Suddenly, the fire-juggler's hand slipped and a torch fell to the stage and set the stage all aflame. Marcella was in the front, shrieking. Leanne did not notice her absence until the fire and until Marcella screamed in a panic. Leanne always had a heart of gold. No one could doubt that she would play heroine. She raced to the crowd and dodged through the weaving of fire, searching for her daughter.

No one knew what had happened to Leanne, but she emerged through the smoke with her weeping daughter in her arms and with a sore limp. Wheezing and hacking coughs, Leanne set her daughter gently down, but collapsed, gasping for air. Doctors were already there and struggled to save Leanne, but it was too late. Her lungs were probably already coated with the smoke's toxin. They managed to save Marcella, who had managed to hold her breath, but Leanne, who was breathing deeply to relax herself in the search of Marcella, had inhaled too much smoke. And King Ignatius did not take Leanne's death easily."

There was silence there. Shivering, I blinked and ran through the story in my head; it played like a play, only realer and with less nonsense poetry. Marcella getting lost in a torrent of fire and smoke; Leanne calling frantically for her daughter and following Marcella's screams; Leanne running into the sea of flame and fume; Leanne emerging with her brown-haired daughter clinging to her side, crying; Marcella unconscious, Leanne collapsing to the ground and wheezing without restraint; a pale-faced Leanne, her arms ashen and lips cold in the clutch of death."

Elaine drew a single shuddering breath, and a cold wisp of wind ran through Eder, myself, and Elaine. We were silent for a moment before Elaine boldly continued her story, which was better than any novel I could ever stick my nose into, for this tale at least was true.

"King Ignatius, maddened by his true lover's death, couldn't stand the sight of Leanne's big, attentive eyes watching him ruefully through Marcella. He ordered that she become a servant. He is now in a terrible state. Queen Egeria could do nothing to improve his mood. You know," Elaine added thoughtfully, her sad gaze now becoming a meditative one. "Queen Egeria never loved him as he never loved her. Her heart was taken, as was his. That is why they have only one child, Clement. But I will speak no more of that; it is a different story entirely."

I gasped, another involuntary move. Queen Egeria _knew_? Knew that her husband was loving her lady-in-waiting – and perhaps even had a child by her – and she didn't mind? I had seen her before and had been impressed; as a Nufalian, she was beautiful and strong of mind, with straight coal-black hair to her waist, eyes like sapphires, and plump cherry-red lips that pouted slightly. I would've expected a bit more fidelity from the husband who would be lucky enough to wed Egeria, but his heart was taken. From what Elaine said, her heart rested in the hands of another as well.

I was tempted to sigh again, but this time I held it. The life of a noble sounded so controlled, so complex, so unfair. You could barely call it a life. It was like giving up all of your privileges for the desires of others, and some more sensible than others. I would never had survived a life like that, being forced to marry for advantage and/or tradition or being forced to play the game of Webs, which is what we called the game of nobles back in the Gypsy camp. Webs. A perfect description of a noble's life. Back in the Gypsy camp, life was free and valuable and all day we laughed and sang and danced and did basic work to survive. Some of us practiced magic – but not evil magic – only to extend beyond the reaches of the rational, for us Gypsy folk were never rational.

Although people of rich roots would never understand, we were a carefree people with our heads stuck permanently in the clouds. And they would never come down.

My body relaxed and I sank in my chair. I was suddenly thankful that I only pretended to be of noble bearings, for I didn't think I would survive a true noble life. A life made as a web of lies was not a life at all.

I began to think of Clement and wondered how he – like his mother and father – would have to marry for advantage. Strangely, I felt a bit of regret along with the obvious sympathy. As low as he was in my opinion, I could think of hundred girls that would be perfectly compatible with him and my choices were reasonable: sweet, pretty, admirable daughters with many talents and a love for the gentle things. However, I knew perfectly well his bride-to-be would be nothing of the like, even if she wasn't Marguerite. Perhaps she'd seem sweet and kind at first, but then become worse than Marguerite in the end. _A noble's life was a mysterious life_, us Gypsies always quoted.

A sharp rap on the door startled us out of our thoughts. Two other raps came, quicker this time, and the door creaked open, showing a weary-looking Clement striding in through the door. He did this often; when he returned from an errand, he came to look for me and would simply sit and enter the conversation. It was a fun habit, but at the moment a grave one.

He grinned my way and sat down at the unoccupied seat near mine. "I knew I'd find you here, Rozenta," he said, beaming. "This seems to be your safe haven, is it not?"

I didn't reply. The thoughts of a noble's life still lingered gravely in my mind. I could almost see Marguerite standing behind his chair, a small simper pasted onto her face, a pasty hand possessively clutching his shoulder. My heart ached at the sight. He deserved a better future than that she-witch.

* * *

**A/N: **NOTHING happened in this Chapter! Ahhh! Believe it or not, I planned an arrangement of events, including a one-to-one conversation with Marcella. And Marcella's luncheon... and another activity with the ever-lovable Clement... but I like this Chapter anyway. A lot of secret-revealing, and major secrets at that. I hope you all like it, really I do, and I hope I get reviews! ::hint::

Preview: MUAHAHAHAHA! No preview... this was just for fun!

So read, review, and wait!... a long time!


	7. Dining with Evil

**A/N: **Nobody likes excuses, and I have many, sad though it is. It has been… I have no idea what, but an undeniably long time since my last update, but please don't remind me of that. What is, is, and I will aggravate you not with sickly explanations for my lateness. Simply forgive it, and all is well. However, I was kind enough to respond to your many reviews, and I beg pardon for the many errors in my last chapter, which was written basically on a fleeting whim.

**P.S. **– Please forgive the first part of the story with her being sleepless and with her getting the milk, as I know it's very chilling and haunted. It's 11 pm, I'm dead tired, and I've survived the past two hours listening to Evanescence. Must I elaborate?

**a fan **– Lol, I know I've failed you just as I've failed everyone else (it's been practically a month since my last update, waaaaah!) but I came up with the entire PLOT. All of it. ALL CHAPTERS. There are 34, by the way :D So I didn't completely waste my time.

**Holly **– Thank you, and have a good night! Hopefully a night better than the one Rozenta has at the beginning of the story!

**Phillippa of the Phoenix** – I love description, which is why I love narratives, so you can imagine how much I love that compliment And Elaine is infinitely cool… will always be cool… because her eyes are cool… ::nods::

**Clargirl5** – Seems like you had to wait a long time ::chuckles weakly:: A lot has happened in my life lately, so sorry! Sorry! Ahh! You all must hate me now… blah.

**fiery-star90** – You spelled Rozenta right, but it's Eszti, not Istza. I understand the error though, since I almost spelled it wrong several times. And I love humor and drama equally, so balancing them out is always infinitely important. Thanks for appreciating it! There are just too many fanfics in this world with too much humor and not enough plot significance, while there are always too many fanfics with too much drama and not enough life. Acknowledging that makes you a good critic :D

**blueforest** – Marcella won't be _too _important a character, mind, but significant enough to have a tiny subplot. I didn't think I'd make her this major, but I'm glad I did ('cause it got me 11 reviews, lmao).

**Sugar-Pixie **– There is nothing to forgive, as you seem to be correct. However, I already bluntly confirmed all of my errors without knowing it (and thus I kill myself… blah again), so allow me to ask for pardon instead. The irregularity will exist throughout the chapter, sadly enough, since I cannot take back everything that the other reviewers have already digested. Still, ignorance is bliss, so ignore it. I swear to be more careful from then on, now, and since I finished my plot outline, I'll read it seventy-seven times seven times to eliminate future mistakes.

**the great and almighty po **- Thanks, and I will finish! But I couldn't read the ro…hoo that you wrote (or understand it) so I can't really respond to that.

**Arein** – No I haven't read So You Want to be a Wizard, but yes I want to be a Wizard. My friend in class has the book though and is reading it in my face. I also would like to add that she enjoys my envy of her possession of the book and makes fake exclamations of excitement in my face (cruel she is, yes).

**Sealednectar **– Now you've all spoiled me… I hope I don't get a big head, lmao. Thanks all of you! The next chapter**s** will have a LOT of action, believe it or not, and I'm still contemplating whether I should kill her Gypsy friends off or not. No, that was a joke, really, I was kidding. Mariutza's too cool to die young :-P

**TrudiRose** – Another error of mine… and I kill myself again ::dies:: But I found a loophole, so prepare for it… The fire used for those fire-eaters/fire-jugglers should be enchanted, or else they'd be dead. Yes, enchanted, and yes, I'm desperate. The smoke caused by such a fire would be toxin already – thick and damp and poisonous. Sadly, Leanne had inhaled too much and has met her untimely end. This is a desperate loophole, yes, but it's still a loophole! Still a loophole!

**-----**

**Chapter 7: Dining with Evil**

**-----**

It was the dead of night when I awoke, uneasy and a sickly pale. My neck prickled with a cold, creeping feeling and I, try as I might, could not find a sleep deep enough to last a refreshing amount of time. This sickened me, and I lay in bed, dreaming and meditating and wishing for sleep to rest my mind. But I remained restless, and to relieve myself of this excess energy, I slowly got up and hauled myself to the window. And at the sight of the sea of dark, speckled lightly by a scattered – yet neat – array of stars, I was comforted. My heart was too free to not be soothed by the simplicities of nature. I opened my window, and a blast of cold air swept in, healing me.

But sleep wouldn't come, and the cold washing over me only wiped me of my remaining fatigue.

Closing my window with a resounding _click_, I flicked on the lantern that sat idly on my window sill, gathering dust. Illuminated by only the meek glow of the lantern fire, I felt a strange, chilling feeling in my chamber, in which sleep couldn't reach me.

So I found the thick, dark, velvety cloak that was given me, draped it tightly over my night robes, and stepped out of my room, eager for a drink of warm milk. There was always a pitcher kept heating downstairs in the guests' kitchens for those who couldn't sleep, like myself. Perhaps a drink of that would help me fall into a dreamless rest.

The guests' building was also headquarters to many of the castle's guests, especially near the kitchens. As I finished retrieving my glass of warm milk, I stepped through the other entrance of the kitchens on my way out, and a noise stopped me. It wasn't the soothing, constant crackling noise of the kitchen furnace, but it was a human voice. Crying. Startled, I stared wildly at a door in the hallway near me, at the only door with light emitting from it.

The wretched weeping continued. Curious, I approached it, and slowly pushed the wooden door open. No creak came to signal my presence, and through a vast gap between door and threshold, I saw a figure, kneeling pitifully on the ground, weeping.

The figure was small, and indefinitely a female. I saw not her face, for her back faced me, but I saw her cheeks from the side, wet. Long strands of brown, chestnut locks stuck to the damp sides of her face. Her body, hunched over as she knelt, racked with sobs, and the sobs were pitiful – and painful for one's heart to listen to.

She sniffled and turned around slowly to face her bed, for I looked into her chambers, evidently. And I suppressed a gasp; big, hazel eyes stared mournfully around her room. Her weeping ceased and she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, crawling into bed.

But I was not calming as Marcella had done, though my sympathy grew. Once she was safe tucked within her blankets, I gently shut the door again and backed away. With the door closed, the hallway was once again as dark as sable. Restless yet suddenly weary, I hurried up to my chambers and careful as a seamstress, shut my door.

Thoughts harassed my mind, as I stood in my room, alone. My warm milk was forgotten, as I had suddenly lost the energy that kept me awake. But questions flew at me between thoughts, questions that couldn't be answered directly. So I sat on my bed, praying for sleep and trying forcefully to push away those maddening questions.

What future would find Marcella, now that she lost her only loving parent and had been sentenced to life as a servant by her other parent? Isn't she supposed to inherit the wealth of that merchant – her "father"? Where did that wealth go? And would Leanne's line recover from being so brutally disturbed, or was it truly blighted – and ended – with Marcella's illegitimacy?

The questions would always haunt my mind whenever I saw that brown-haired servant, but for now sleep washed them away.

-----

I didn't hear Eder come into my room, nor did the sunlight affect me when she threw my curtains aside to allow sunshine. I was still deep in sleep's clutches, still recovering from shock and from lack of rest. Still, Eder did not know that, and just as she did not know that, she did not hesitate in pulling my blanket off my bed and waving my blanket up and down to let cold air wake me. My legs shivered with the creeping feeling of cold and I startled myself awake with a loud cry of anger.

Eder laughed and threw my blanket over me again, smiling as I drew myself up. My groggy gaze cleared, but my eyelids still felt heavy. She helped me off of my bed and pinched me in order to have me angry – and when I was angry, energy filled me like nothing else could.

"It's so fun waking you in the mornings, Rozenta," she laughed, letting go of me to fold my blankets. "Your reactions are hilarious. Elaine wanted to come, but that wench Marguerite wouldn't leave her alone. Elaine did her hair in a bun, but Marguerite wanted a plait. So Elaine gave her a plait, but then Marguerite threw a tantrum and shrieked that the plait was so bad that she'd rather wear the bun."

I raised my eyebrows at the word 'wench' – for it was too rude a word – but laughed at the news of Marguerite's crankiness. Suddenly, I pitied Elaine. Marguerite was insatiable, and Elaine was practically born to please. I expected her to throw a frosty rant towards Marguerite in the afternoon.

"And oh!" Eder cried, her eyebrows raising to an absurd height and her mouth forming a little O. "Today is the day of Marguerite's luncheon! And you've woken so late, Rozenta… it's ten! The luncheon is at eleven!"

I froze in the action of walking to my wardrobe. In all my surprise, however, I still mentally wondered why a luncheon would be at eleven. Wouldn't they be at two o'clock? But these were nobles, and their words were law.

"An hour to dress? Well, don't worry, Eder," I laughed, regaining my humor and pulling a random gown from my wardrobe. "I'll be ready in ten minutes."

Disbelief spread out on her face, and then mischief unfolded. "Well, we'll just see about that. Only time can truly tell." She plopped down onto my now tidy bed and watched me with a critical, calculating look.

I grinned, merriment sweeping the remainder of my fatigue away. Looking down at the silken dress in my arms, I scrutinized it, noted its colors and its features. It was a silk dress with a neckline that went across my shoulders, leaving them bare. The material was wine-red, deep and classy, and was hemmed with white velvet at all seams. The thing I loved best about this gown was the band of tiny white roses and red roses stitched at the neck hemline.

An evil smile spread across my face. This gown, just like everything else in my wardrobe, was fit for a queen – handpicked by Clement as they were (so said Elaine). To see me dressed so richly would kill Marguerite. The idea was perfect. Besides, I reasoned, if she _was _to be queen, couldn't I allow myself the least amount of indulgence? My eyes fell on the gown again, and I could already see her reddening face.

-----

The heavy, gold-gilded doors slid open with an echoing series of creaks, and I was allowed a peek at the golden light of the dining room. The palace dining room was quiet, though not empty. Eder trailed behind me, looking feverishly around for Elaine, whom we both presumed to be here. We proceeded silently and carefully into the dining hall, preparing for the worst. This was evil we were dining with, after all, and nothing good could possibly come out of it.

Marguerite and Clement sat at the far end of the main dinner table, conversing in quiet voices. Or rather, Marguerite gossiping happily away and Clement watching the light reflect on the walls in his boredom. They did not acknowledge the arrival of Eder and myself, and we preferred it that way. But sadly enough, Eder was not invited and had to leave right after finding Elaine, who was looking like a fatal winter blizzard come to an end.

The leather soles of my silky slippers gently padded against the marble floor and I swiftly swept into a chair two seats away from the nobles. The thick underskirts of the wine-colored dress, I had discovered, was tough and prickly and when pressed against my calves, it itched terribly. A deep breath helped me bite the aggravated cry on my tongue.

Clement, taking his eyes off the radiant walls, turned to me as I sat, ignoring the look Marguerite gave him when he cut her off.

"Why, hello, Lady Rozenta," he said in a would-be polite way, his half-grin starting. I briefly gave him a mocking grin in return and shifted my legs' position. The itch was still there, and I was ready to cry from the irritation.

"Oh, yes," Marguerite snapped icily in my direction, sitting straighter. "Welcome, Rozenta dear. The luncheon is in the gardens' courtyard, by the way, and we'll be heading there in a few minutes. That gown," she added, her glacial blue gaze giving my dress a bitter look. "looks _divine_ on you, dear. Simply _charming_."

Her eyes screamed loathing, for me and my gown alike. Inside, my satisfied smile was wide. The way she scrutinized my gown made me want to laugh in triumph. I hadn't misinterpreted her reaction _at all_.

While on the subject of gowns, my attention was turned to her. Now that she sat straighter, I could see what she wore clearly – and I suppose that's the reason she sat up straight in the first place. It was a pastel yellow gown of lace frills at every hem and cuff and open seam. The neckline reached the middle of her neck and was covered in thick white frills, which I imagined to be most hot, choking, and uncomfortable. Her waist was that of an hourglass's for she clearly wore a corset, and I chuckled inwardly at her pain.

Marguerite's golden, polished-lemon curls were bound up with a silver pin on each side, both binds meeting and entwining in the middle. The design was intricate and oh-so-complex, and my heart went out to Elaine. It must've taken hours to do such a hairstyle, and with Marguerite as the one being fashioned, it must've taken at least three hours more.

"So," Clement began with a great smile, breaking the tension between Marguerite and myself. "Now that our final guest has arrived, are we to set off to the courtyard or not?"

"Wait," I interrupted, bemused and anticipating a satisfying answer. "Shouldn't there be more guests arriving? This is a luncheon, after all."

Blue ice chips glared at me like nothing else could. They weren't as eerie as Elaine's frosty orbs, but there were ten-times colder.

"They couldn't make it, the poor darlings," Marguerite hurriedly explained, rising neatly from her seat. "Had important others matters to attend to, and I would be horrified to be the one to stop them from getting their jobs done! Duty over delight, as you know. Now come, the menservants shall wait no more and the maids are pestering me."

Clement and I exchanged looks; although we were practically sworn rivals, Clement and I were, are, and would always be on the same side when it came to Marguerite. Whereas her possibilities to becoming queen… the idea was mostly depending on Clement's opinion, abiding by the Merilian customs, and he wasn't likely to marry her anytime soon.

As we rose and conversed on our way out, two maids and a serving man rushed into the dining hall, faces irritable and excited with the day's bustle. The serving man was short but thin, thus giving the impression that he was rather small. The serving maid, however, was short and _stout_, thus giving off the impression that she was rather squat in size. However, the other serving maid was short and rather thin, but instead of simply looking small from birth, her size gave off the idea that she was unhealthy.

I could've gasped, for her story was one that I had thought of more than once in the past twenty-four hours. And to have her serve for us would be an uncomfortable moment indeed.

"Marcella," Marguerite happily twittered, gesturing to the short, unhealthy child among the servants. "The new serving maid. She's rather small, the poor thing, but quite obedient and a keen worker, I've heard. It took so long for Cook Brinya relent when I asked her for Marcella, but she did so, and so gracefully too. Why, Marcella, show Lady Rozenta to the courtyard please. Maid Geslynn, pick up the lunch trays and set them on my desired table, please. Hedrick, please supervisor our workers," Marguerite added dismissively to the other two servants. They did not bow, but went straight to their duties.

I watched Marcella sympathetically out of the corner of my eye, but I still managed to notice Clement shifting uneasily in the back. I turned and gave him a puzzled look, but he refused to respond to it – in gestures and words alike – and simply ignored my questioning gaze. Marcella, oblivious to the uneasiness of Clement and myself, led the way rather gloomily, walking hurriedly and without a care. I saw only the back of her chestnut head, and I could practically imagine Leanne, with her hazel ringlets the exact same way. The image of her dead, however, also lingered in my mind, and less pleasantly.

We sat at a large rectangular table in the gardens under a shaded area of the courtyard. A pitcher of wine, crystal goblets, lace placemats, linen napkins, porcelain plates, gleaming silverware, and an ivory vase of vibrant lilies and roses adorned the spacious table surface. We sat down and began conversing, and the maid called Geslynn arrived with a tray of biscuits, a hot kettle of tea, and a serving bowl of Merilian's _megnigna_.

Marcella sat at a small white table not far from ours, waiting miserably for the next order. My seat was in the direction facing hers, and every now and then I would watch her with anxious eyes. Marguerite, even with a biscuit in her mouth, chattered on endlessly and soon bored Clement and myself to death. The last time I had glanced at Clement, he was idly examining the chiseled features of his crystal goblet.

"Pardon me," I broke in politely, my gaze once again wandering to the small, chestnut-haired girl sitting at a table not far from us. "But shouldn't you dismiss Marcella for the moment, for she has nothing to do. Ask Geslynn to call her back later on if you must, but she seems completely bored to death."

Clement gave a vigorous start and watched me with sleepy eyes. Marguerite, thrown off her track of conversation for the second time today, considered me with her icy, calculating eyes, and then stared over at Marcella. The small girl was oblivious to the eyes on her and was staring at her feet.

My vision was not perfect, but I could've sworn I saw tears start in her watering eyes.

"Well, let's give her an order then," Marguerite answered before calling Marcella over with a wave of her gloved hand. Marcella looked up, saw Marguerite's gesture, and walked over, looking ready for another order.

"Carry this back to the kitchens, and ask Cook Brinya to get it washed," Marguerite ordered briskly, shoving her crystal goblet – which was slightly less than half full of wine – into Marcella's possession. She took it without expression or emotion and was turning away before she swiftly stumble and sent the glass tumbling into Marguerite's lap. Unfortunately, the glass landed on its side on Marguerite's lap and in a few seconds' time, a great pool of burgundy developed on Marguerite's precious summer gown.

A shriek escaped Marguerite as she stood, kicking her chair behind her, rubbing her stained gown as thoroughly as she could. When all seemed lost, she glowered at Marcella with a look of pure fury, her pretty face contorted nastily with rage.

"You brat! You stubborn, goose-footed brat! See what you've done! Go! Get away from me!" Marguerite screeched, shoving Marcella a good three foot away from her. Marcella gasped, stumbled and nearly hit the floor, and straightening, she rushed away with tears pouring down her cheeks in a straight stream.

I watched all this, befuddled. Confusion filled me for a moment, and then anger took over. The noblewoman's mask that possessed me for the day vanished utterly and I rose, glaring daggers at Marguerite. The blonde did not notice and whimpered pathetically, rubbing the linen napkin hard against her dress, which was hopelessly stained. She also did not look up until a yell escaped me, choking with mingled fury and disbelief.

"How could you?" I cried, striding away hurriedly from the table. I saw Clement stare around at Marguerite and myself in extreme confusion, his brow furrowing while he tried to comprehend the situation. I, however, had lost my temper and had had enough. The way they treated Marcella, the way they pretended that she had no reason to cry every night… it made me want to shout.

In a fury, I had seized my linen napkin and flung it at her face. She screamed as though I had just thrown a heavy weight in her direction, and clawed like a witch at the napkin. Unsatisfied with this reaction, I threw down my glass goblet for the effect and stomped off.

My pace matched my heartbeat. I spared a single glance back at Marguerite's luncheon, and suddenly remembered the absence of a crashing sound. The glass goblet that I had flung at the floor lay there pristine and perfect, lacking the slightest trace of damage.

I spared a second of wonder at the magical glass, but stomped off after that second. I heard Clement call for me several times, but I did not turn back.

**-----**

The doors burst open to the hall and I stormed in, my face thunder. The little red ribbon in my hair had popped out as I shrieked, and I had no idea where it was. But I cared little of it, and instead focused on finding Marcella. I had heard her heart-piercing sobs as she ran from the luncheon, and I followed them. But they led me here, and upon entering the dining room, I could hear those series of sobs no more.

Fatigue caught up with me, and I collapsed unceremoniously into a seat at the dining table. I took a deep breath, and released it. Straining my hearing for those sobs once again, I sighed when I knew they were entirely gone.

I had been sitting and meditating for a full ten minutes before the door opened once again.

I gasped when I saw the enterers. Lady Miorelle – a noble guest from the land of Buennté, a neighboring land – strode into the room in her gracious, alluring way, escorted arm in arm by a tall dark-haired, dark-eyed, and dark-complexioned figure in rich clothes. He was grinning behind his thick mustache – an indulging smile, as a matter of fact. A familiar indulging smile…

The man was so familiar… like someone who left our camp about a year ago…

And it struck me. I gasped.

The man shifted his head, and something pearly on his ear shimmered. It was a white-gold earring, a small studded thing – one that indicated a Gypsy man blessed with riches.

And my suspicions were confirmed.

**A/N: **I have nothing to say but review, review, and review! And that the entire plot has been laid out, chapter to chapter, and that is indeed good news.


	8. To Meet Another

**A/N: **I'm starting this chapter about two days from my last update, so I'm feeling great. It's the weekend and I intend to get a great chunk of this chapter done so I could work on my L/J fanfic again (which is terribly behind schedule). For this chapter, my regular chapter goal is the same – 5 reviews. It's common knowledge that the more often you set your standards low, the more seldom you get disappointed.

**Holly – **Lol, I will keep updating until I finish the epilogue, don't worry.

**Kadesh – **Don't you hate it when that happens? When you haven't read something in a while and then just read the latest of it, and you get so confused? Blah… I should update faster.

**Clargirl5** – Muahahahaha! Yes, I am aware that I am pure evil! And the thought of one update a month is quite horrifying, so I will _try_ to update faster… I can't guarantee that it would work.

**Vamp and Buck – **G'day to you too. Lol, yes, I love describing the servants, especially Eder and Elaine. I just think they're completely awesome :-D You'll be seeing a lot of them in later chapters (but I doubt you'll be seeing Hedrick and Geslynn again)

**Clavel** – Oh crap, I love your fanfics! Especially the Love & Magic one… I read tons of fanfics, but I rarely add them to my favorites, and I never review them… thanks for sparing so much time for my fanfic, and I will update, that is certain. You'd better update your fics too, or else I'll knock you unconscious :-D

**Lindlylou78 – **Hehe, I know what you mean… sometimes I just get too lazy to do little things, like signing in or getting up for more water (which is where little siblings come in handy ::evil smile:: )

**blueforest – **Haha, don't worry, wine stains doesn't come off easily ::evil smile:: About your compliment on my updating… wow. You're a patient person… I wouldn't have lasted so long. But yes, you're right, some authors stop updating after 3 months or so, and if it's a good story, then that honestly SUCKS! Well, I'm not a fan of action, but I would say that at the part when the story-turning problem pops up, Rozenta goes through a lot. And don't worry… there's always fluff :-D

**Arein – **Lol, I haven't read anything by Tamora Pierce, but I'd like to. Yay! A book recommendation! Thank you for that :o)

**TrudiRose – **Thanks! I'm glad you like the details and descriptions… I don't know why I chose to make them so vivid :-/ I'm glad it's appreciated, though. Lol, Eszti would love it if the mysterious Gypsy decided to rescue her, but I'm afraid he doesn't really do a thing ::yet another evil smile:: Ah well… at least Clement enjoys her stay.

**Mimi – **Good luck printing this darned long story… honestly. When you run out of ink, please don't blame me :-D

**rhiannon – **Wow, by posting that review, you have wasted 5 seconds of my life. Thanks. And now, by responding to this, I'm wasting another 5 seconds. Thanks for that too. In case you didn't know, this story is _fantasy/romance_… keyword: fantasy. It doesn't have to be realistic, because it's _fantasy_. In this story, Gypsies DO wear purple, Eszti does wear numerous gold bracelets, and they steal and return. Why? Because it's _fantasy_. Honestly… if you're going to flame this fic, please check it's genre. Because when it's _fantasy_, the authors can do whatever they want.

Yes, your flame was that worthless, and no, I will not try to be nice about it. I am not a mean person, but I don't love flames either.

**Fou Fou **- Go right ahead (about the fork, I mean) and please don't mind if I join you. Lol, and to find out about the gypsy, you must read. And review, come to think of it.

**starlight** – Lol, I will update, so don't worry… or die. And I hope that this chapter came quick enough for you… I have too many lazy spells for my own good.

**kerricarri – **Yes, you did review the last chapter, and I apologize for not acknowledging you! I usually respond to the reviews first, and then write the entire chapter out ('tis a bad habit of mine), and I guess you had reviewed while the story was still under construction. Sorry about that! I'm including you now, so no harm done, right?

**chandni – **Hello again Mimi :-D Lmao, you just had to review twice, didn't ya? Ah well… no complaints here. I really don't see why you're so jealous because you're a great writer too, so please don't make me feel guilty by being envious! And thanks for sticking up for me there… obviously, rhiannon doesn't see the thick, dark, very solid line between fantasy and reality. Because if rhiannon did, then he/she would've realized that when I write a fantasy story, two plus two can equal fish and gypsies can wear purple. ::nods sagely::

I hope I don't fail anyone with this next chapter, and I keep my goal the same as ever – 5 reviews. You can manage that, can't you?

**BTW**: I was watching a very sad and romantic Filipino movie before I wrote this chapter, so now when I reread the chapter, I figured out it was actually just a load of romantic fluff itself! Romance, fluff, and sugar galore! (yes, that includes Rozenta and Clement… odd though, isn't it?)

**- - - - -**

**Chapter 8: To Meet Another**

**- - - - -**

My heart leaped into my throat, and a cry of joy nearly escaped me. Lady Miorelle and Lieron Dairin didn't look up at the odd sounds that I emitted. He was whispering to her, a sly smile growing on his face, and she giggled – an enticing, sultry sound. Although I would normally be repelled by their openness, the shock of seeing Lieron wiped me mindless, though hope lingered in my slowly emptying mind.

Finally, they glanced up. Lady Miorelle blushed at the sight of me, a light dash of pink spreading on her smooth cheeks, and she graciously slipped her hand from his grasp. She spared him a swift, sweet smile and hurried away. A silence grew between Lieron and I, for he knew me and I recognized him. There was no way that he could not have recognized me. If he didn't, then he couldn't call himself one of my people.

He sighed, staring at the door through which Lady Miorelle exited, inhaling a deep breath. Then he smiled at me, friendly enough, and I found my voice again. The silence was no longer too uncomfortable.

"She's a pretty little thing," Lieron said nonchalantly, finally looking at me and gesturing extravagantly at the gold-gilded doors. "Sweet, sensible, and pretty. Pity she has about ten other beaux, though… I wouldn't fancy being assassinated by any of them."

I laughed, remembering the time Lieron courted a woman in our camp, the most beautiful of her age. Nen had warned him several times about the woman's beaux, for she had a network. But Lady Miorelle was of noble bearing, and any assassination a beau of hers could pay for would be a nasty piece of work indeed.

Lieron beamed at me like an uncle would at a favorite, spunky niece; his smile was reeking of fatherly affection. He scrutinized me, examined the changes that life in the royal court had caused in me. His brow furrowed as he examined my face, and he beamed again, his forehead smoothing with pleasant realization. I beamed up at him in return, for I knew him to be expecting signs of favor from me.

"You look more and more like Contza every time I see you, Eszti," he said, swaggering forward and sitting casually on a chair near mine. He was referring to my Nen, for Contza was her name. Foolish feelings of flattery made my lips curl into a small smile; Contza was beautiful and remained so, though age had altered her features. She still possessed the same almond, dark-as-pitch eyes, the matching dark tresses, and the smiling lips that I inherited. Though subtle features in my face resembled my father, the people in my camp always said that when I smiled, Contza's beauty shone through. I had heard the compliment countless times, and still it proved forever flattering.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him, smiling and breathless. At the moment, he proved to be a beacon of hope. He used to live in my camp and perhaps could tell me of the happenings, though he left it a time ago to pursue wealth and traveling. If I was lucky, he might've stopped by the camp on his way here. It was not hard; Arvette Forest was vast and spacious and contained a constantly used path. If he did know about my Nen and Da, then I would praise him forever.

"Just visiting a friend," he replied nonchalantly, smiling a small smile. I knew that friend to be Prince Clement - and suddenly I remembered the friendship they had when he was prisoner. And my heart rose even higher; if he knew nothing about my camp, then at least his stay wouldn't be useless to me. He knew how it was to be imprisoned, and at least I could talk to him about it.

"I haven't seen Clement in so long a while, counting my money as I had been," he continued, slowly bringing his gaze around the golden dining hall. "Thought I'd put my gratitude into a visit. I didn't know I'd see you again, Eszti," he added, smiling his charming smile. He did not mean it to entice me – oh no, that would be rather sick – but just to have me feel more secure talking to him.

How could I not?

"I certainly didn't expect you, Lieron," I said quickly. "Did you see my Nen and Da or my camp near the Arvette Forest? Or rather, just anywhere? When Prince Clement releases me, I'd hope to the death that the camp would still be there. Would the camp settle elsewhere while I am still away?" I asked worriedly. They had done it once in the case of another family, and if it had happened to me, I would've died at the thought.

Lieron Dairin shook his head in thought, his brow furrowing slightly. "Knowing Contza and Brion, they wouldn't dare let it happen. And they'd search for you. Don't you worry your pretty little head, Eszti, they won't leave you. And you'd be safe in Clement's hands… he is quite the host."

Anger bubbled in me – just a tinge – and I took a deep breath to keep myself from yelling at no one in particular.

"He wouldn't let me go," I seethed, anger still bubbling. "He wouldn't say why. That isn't fair, Lieron… how did you get him to let you free?"

At this, he laughed uproariously. I was startled; was it the manner with which I asked him, or was the question that preposterous? I didn't want to sound like the whiney little baby I was beginning to imitate, but it wasn't fair in any possible way that I would be kept in a palace in which I certainly did not belong, and to be kept there only because a spoiled prince enjoyed my company. In my view, there was no reason to laugh at all.

"You are blossoming into a precious beauty, Eszti… did I tell you that?" he laughed, a twinkle in his eye. I turned and looked over at him, disbelieving. Did he just say that? Was I expected to take that as a response to my question? I raised my eyebrows at him, and he smiled in response. He still didn't answer my question.

"I'll ask it again, Lieron Dairin," I said impatiently. "Why won't he let me free? How did you get him to let you free?"

Lieron heaved a sigh and gazed up at my earnest face, and he sobered. I suppose there was a seriousness and desperation in my face that caused him to get serious; it was hard to sober such a man. That's why the people in my camp always thought him to be an idol for mischief makers and jokers everywhere. No one was sure if that was a definite good thing or bad thing.

"I'll answer the second question first," he said with a grin before shifting his seating position. "I had fun while I was here, actually. It turns out that Prince Clement was a bit of a lonely child, with barely any playmates his age. In place of those would-be playmates, he had servants and nannies and courtiers and teachers. He grew up that way, with a playful personality and barely anyone to play with. It's a sad thing, really, growing up that royal and rich. So when I got caught by the guards, Clement offered me a place in the castle, as a royal guest from another country. He said that he wouldn't truly penalize me, so long as I helped him with his bowmanship."

I smiled at that part; Lieron Dairin was certainly the best bowman in our camp, and the best hunter, and the best horseback rider. His looks practically shouted his talents. He was tall and lanky and had the keenest eyesight, and although his muscles didn't show, his big hands and firm way of gripping and walking told others that he was an experienced hunter.

Lieron smiled reminiscently in his memories, and his smile seemed on the brink of laughter. But of course, all of Lieron's smiles always seemed on the brink of laughter, although his lips didn't part. It was one of his most attractive traits, and it was one of the features of his that made it easy for him to make a friend; his smile displayed his sense of humor.

"So I helped him train, alongside with Sir Giovon… of course, he told the public that I was a foreign trainer from another country set by his parents – but his parents knew the truth about me and found it a funny thing that I would now be teaching Clement, but they kept it secret. Clement and I grew to be fond friends, as well as steadfast hunting partners. Have you ever seen him fight and hunt? The lad has some potential… he's good with horses too.

But back on the answer to your question: Clement is not a cruel person. We were at the height of our friendship in the first month and a half of my imprisonment, and I enjoyed my time here. But eventually I began to miss the old camp… I missed Brion and Contza, and Old Lyra… and Azalea." At this, his smile faltered slightly and his eyes fogged up; what was left of his smile was now sad, burdened with the pain of losing something so precious. "Ah, beautiful Lea… I wonder fate has done with her now. She must hate me now, and probably has another – moreover, someone more faithful and someone less selfish. Is it so, Eszti? _Has_ she found another?" he inquired desperately, lifting his gaze and searching my expression for any hidden answers, as though I would know what had happened to his sweetheart.

The odd thing was that I did, but I couldn't find the heart to tell him; their love story had a sadder ending than he knew. At first, no one could understand why he had left Azalea so suddenly, when they were at their passion's best. Before he made the decision that broke Azalea's heart, there were even rumors that Lieron was considering engagement, and people marveled at his love for Azalea. She had to be one special woman if she could make Lieron change from a heartbreaker to a family man.

But when Lieron returned from his imprisonment in Clement's castle, there was something different about him. Returning to camp, he looked at everything as though he would love to continuing living among such people, but found he couldn't.

No one noticed at first except for Azalea… no one wondered why Lieron had seemed so sad. She questioned him about it one night, nearly a month since his return home, and it was then that he had broken her heart. He told to her that he learned there was much more in the world than he could dream of, and his adventurous spirit longed for a chance to explore it. He wanted to visit kings and queens in many different lands, wanted to fulfill his new dream as a traveler, one who never settled. He explained to her that he tried his best to forget his newly found dreams, to ignore them so that he could be happy in a life with her in the camp. But it was impossible, he found, to ignore these dreams, and so he was going to leave the Gypsy camp for good.

He ended his explanations by explaining that though he loved the idea of a life with her in their Gypsy camp, there were other lands and possibilities out there – in that great world past Merilian – and that he longed for nothing more than to see it. His last sentence told her that his dreams began to challenge his love for her.

And the last sentence, I knew for a fact, was what shattered Azalea's heart into a million pieces and had scattered the pieces in different parts of the world, never to be reunited again.

Lieron's smile was entirely gone now; his face resembled anguish carved in stone. At that very moment, I wanted nothing more than to tell him that Azalea was willing to give him a second chance, that she was well and still available, and waiting for him. My heart ached to lie, to say that she had forgiven him for his foolishness, and that her love for him remained as it had always been – impervious and plenty and eternal.

I could not tell him of her fate, but I could not lie to him either. But something in me spoke for me, in a thankfully neutral tone, and told him the truth.

"No, Lieron," I forced myself to say, although the impulse to speak was going to rip my throat in half. "She has not found another since you left. She still loved you, but couldn't believe what you did. She didn't know whether she should hate you or be faithful and continue loving you and wait for you. So her mind numbed with the ache of it all, and she went mad. At first she lost her sweet nature, and her beauty washed away with her happiness, and Azalea became irritable, bitter, and subdued. Then she lost her sanity, crying every night and hugging her pillow to her chest and praying that you would come back to her, and damning you at the same time. It was a hard time for all of us, to witness such a thing. Some of us prayed for her pain to end, and end it did."

Lieron's eyes, which had been transfixed and wide with disbelief and panic, did not change a bit. His brow furrowed again as he took in the information and he could've shaken me when I stopped my telling, could've gritted his teeth and demanded me to go on. I wouldn't have blamed him if he did. But he did not move as he let me go on with my tale.

"There was a day when everything was gray: the sky's usual radiance was dimmed and the sky was a sad grey hue, with only a tinge of periwinkle near the edges of the darkening clouds. No birds sang, and everyone awoke sad and disheartened, for a reason unknown to us. Mostly everybody was having breakfast with their families at the time in their tents, when someone began shouting for help. It came from the tent near the east edge of the camp, the one that Azalea lived in. Everyone eating heard the cry, and was panicked by it.

Myric, Azalea's brother – the one you never liked – came bursting into random tents, yelling that Azalea wouldn't awaken. Everybody was shaken, and those who knew her best – along with the committee – came rushing into her tent. I was not there personally, but my Da was, and he told us. He said that everyone crowded around her bed, and stared into her stony, sad, beautifully tragic face. Da said that her face was wet and cold, with tears from weeping, no doubt. The healer felt for a pulse, and her face fell when she felt nothing – only cold flesh."

I don't know what possessed me to talk in such explicit detail, especially with news of his lover's death. But it was as though I was living in a story, and it was as though by speaking in such an elaborate way, I turned Azalea's death into a story. I knew it was frightfully wrong, since the news could kill Lieron's emotional state, but I couldn't help it. It was as though I was telling the story to myself: as though I hadn't actually gone through it and was simply telling the occurrence to another.

I stopped there, for a lump had developed in my throat. I had known Azalea, though I was only twelve when she was still happy with Lieron, and I liked her immediately. She was sweet, and funny, and caring, and clever, and bright. The memory of her death brought me great sadness, and many tears, and the idea that Lieron had contributed to her untimely death brought me anguish and a slight feeling of betrayal. I had liked Lieron, too.

There was more, but it was only a flourish of words – basically what followed in her families and our families. I did not go on, however, for my eyes were already beginning to water, but I was a stubborn girl. I held my tears, and instead watched Lieron for any sign of sadness.

He continued staring at me for a few moments when I abruptly stopped the story, but did not protest. I suppose he had heard enough, as her sweetheart and her heartbreaker – and, if you were cruel enough to think that way, her cause of death. He was staring at me, but wasn't really – instead, he stared within himself rather than at his surroundings. Then finally, his gaze dropped to the floor, he blinked once, and then he buried his face in his hands, shame and guilt written all over his face.

I couldn't bear the sight; his display of sorrow and remorse was too much for my hard to withstand. Breathing deeply, I rose from my chair – completely guilty that I had to reveal the truth to him the day he came to visit a dear friend – and nimbly made my way across the room.

My hand was reaching for the golden handle on the door when I turned back and spared a final glance. His pose and expression was still the same: lost and guilty and in self-hatred. My heart throbbed. I turned back and opened the gold-gilded doors with barely a creak, and slipped through the threshold.

My spirits were lower today than it had been since I arrived at this wretched palace. Suddenly, Lieron's visit didn't seem so hopeful anymore.

**- - - - -**

The tears came when I successfully made it into the parlor without distraction, crankily slamming the door behind me and sinking into my favorite squashy armchair by the fire. I did not sob, nor wail, nor bawl, but the tears came silently, and in great long streaks down my cheek. Thoughts of Azalea lingered in my mind, walking arm in arm with Lieron or laughing with everyone else: a tall, dark-haired beauty, with a rare-for-Gypsies skin complexion: a light brown, almost fair.

Her black hair came down her shoulders in dark, loose ringlets, and her smile completed her beauty: it was humorous and sweet-natured at the same time. When I was twelve, there was never a time when she didn't succeed in making me laugh, and she was constantly winning my heart with countless tales of faraway lands. Nobody was surprised when they found she could tame Lieron, for she fitted him perfectly, and everyone believed them to be a destined couple.

But they weren't, and the story ended in death and despair. My tears came faster, and more forcefully.

I was so drowned in my silent tears that I did not notice when the door slid open, nor did I look up when a tall figure strode to my chair, his gentle but hesitant hand on my shoulder. I cried for half a minute more before acknowledging his presence.

The silence had treated me well, but a friend to talk to was more of a comfort.

Clement's hand left my shoulder (and inside, I found this to be a slight disappointment, although I mentally denied it) and he took the seat across mine: an identical armchair. He glanced at me awkwardly, afraid I would burst into soft tears again (men like Clement, I learned, weren't good with crying women), but his usually mischievous eyes were soft. This moment was one of those times when we forgot all our useless little squabbles together and found each other's company satisfying.

"Are you done?" he asked gently. I looked truthfully into his eyes – and almost got lost into them, actually… they were the most hypnotizing kind of blue I had ever seen in my life – and nodded, a slight motion of the head. He nodded in satisfaction and leaned forward slightly, so that when he stared into _my_ eyes, he didn't have to look down.

"Care to fill me in, Rozenta?"

My returning nod was hesitant, but it still existed. So I cleared my hoarse-with-weeping throat and told of, in a hushed voice, Lieron's mistake and of Azalea's death. I didn't include so many details like I did last time, but I still spoke in a strangely aloof tone – as neutral and genuine as a witness's voice.

When I was done, Clement's eyebrows were raised a little in incredulity, but he said nothing about it. And for that I was grateful.

"But then," he said suddenly, "what made you cry? Was this Azalea related to you in any way?"

I shook my head offhandedly, not thinking on it too much. Or trying not to think on it. Although I was as stubborn as any lass could ever become, I was a soft-heart when it came to the despairs of others. I revealed to no one, of course, that I was empathetic, but some had already guessed.

And by the way Clement smiled, I was safe to infer that he guessed so too.

"Azalea was the perfect friend." I spoke in short sentences, feeling the tears readying themselves in my eyes. "Funny, creative, clever, and sweet. You could tell her anything and she wouldn't judge you – instead, she mended your problems. I loved her while she still lived, when I was twelve. But that was four years ago; I should've gotten over it a long time ago. I'm sorry I had to drown in tears like that," I added apologetically to Clement, whose smile widened.

"I don't suppose you'd want me to inform anyone of this, am I correct?"

Where remorse was, there was now anger. My temper was quick, but most of the time not-so-serious, and I was glaring at him for even suggesting so.

"You dare to do that, Clement Bernard, and I'll kill you."

"Bold statement to the future king, Rozenta. Even I wouldn't have dared to say such a thing."

I blanched slightly, but only for a moment. His threats concerning his being a prince still came up every now and then, but I stopped believing them. Still, they made me nervous. Everything he said in those threats were true, and could happen. I didn't want to think any further on the prospect of getting him _too_ angry.

There was silence, during which I stared into the shape-shifting flames in the heart, buried in my own thoughts. Dimly, I was aware of his smile still on me, not even beginning to leave me. His eyes, too, bored a hole through me, and I was uneasy when I thought of how often he did that. Sometimes when we talked and there would be a moment of silence, he would stare at me relentless, stare _into _me, as though he were reading my very soul. Like a book.

I decided to speak again, and to stop concentrating on the fire. He deftly disguised his staring by appearing to look at the portrait on the wall behind me, tilting his head at the sight and scrutinizing it with almost-genuine interest. I smiled mentally; he was clever, I couldn't deny that, but I could be just as observant when I wanted to be.

"Why did you come to help me?" I asked suddenly, seizing him from his portrait reverie. He blinked and stared at me blankly, probably concocting a most brilliant excuse in his mind.

"Well," he said after that heartbeat's pause. "I came in here to see if Eder was around – the cook was looking for her, going on about some bet they had made some time ago – and you know well enough that she spends her spare time in here… with you, oftentimes. I saw you crying, and I am not a vindictive prince. I wanted to comfort you and distract you because, you see, seeing you cry like that was like a blow to the heart." At this point, his eyes were soft and twinkling at me, filled with startling concern. His smile had softened and seemed shaped only for me.

For a moment, I enjoyed his sincerity in his concern for me, and I honestly don't know why. But – snapping out of it – I realized that such thoughts were scary, that he was almost betrothed to someone else, and that I probably wouldn't stay here past a year. And that I _definitely _wasn't falling for him; oh no… I was too dignified for that.

"Very well-thought of words, dear sir," I said, my voice simply dripping with sarcasm and resentment. If I _was_ falling for him – which would certainly _never_ happen, oh no – it upset me that my heart was that easy to win, if I were to lose it to someone like Clement. The thought made me feel cantankerous.

"Very tactful, too," I continued. "Seeing as I hear no sincerity whatsoever. Still, I applaud you. I was, for a second, nearly convinced that you truly cared."

Mild surprise took over his face for a tenth of a second – and I just barely saw it – and on his face another tenth-of-a-second of pain followed. Still, he covered it up with exceptional skill – which I applaud him for – and smiled his usual lazy, roguish smile.

He stood and made for the door, but turned to give me a strange, thoughtful look. He tilted his head and asked, "Are we friends, Rozenta? Or do you truly hate me?"

I blinked; this was the last thing I expected from him. It scared me, also, that my answer was so hesitant. I opened my mouth and prepared it for a firm, unalterable "NO", but I found it impossible. Instead, a stream of words slid unchecked past my lips, and when I was done talking, my words played in my head and I mentally groaned with horror.

"I suppose so," I had said, in a voice that didn't seem too hesitant to be lying, although I dearly wish it had. "About being friends, I mean. You and I have our laughs, and it is actually enjoyable being around you. We have too much fun together and we understand one another too greatly to not be friends; and I don't hate you. You do things that I hate, I admit, but I can't really hate you. I suppose you could say that I hate you just as much as you hate me."

A sick feeling settled into my stomach when those words played in my mind; I suppose it bloomed on my face's expression too. Clement's eyebrows were raised at the speech, and he didn't look too sickened. His reaction to it was actually pleasant. But upon seeing my face, he couldn't suppress a laugh.

"Did I say that?" I asked quickly, trying to correct what I said. "Maybe I did, but what I meant was –"

He waved his hand dismissively and cut me off, still on the brink of laughter.

"I knew what you meant, Rozenta, and I do not resent it." He gave a final chortle and sauntered out of the room, leaving me to helplessly sputter in disbelief.

"Listen, I wasn't finished!" I exclaimed, my temper terribly piqued. I stood and banged at the door, yelling. "You cannot walk out when I am talking to you, Clement! You didn't interpret my answer correctly – you misunderstood it! Come back, you wretched prince, you!!"

I hushed and threw the door open, looking out into the end of the hall. He was turning the corner, and I caught a glimpse of his face – his laughing face. My hand itched terribly; I needed to choke something alive – particularly him.

He was out of hearing and sight for sure, now. I groaned appallingly, and loudly. I shut the door – not too softly, mind – and marched indignantly back into the parlor. I was still grumbling obscenities when I found my seat.

When silence followed, my mind wandered. What puzzled me most was _why_ I had to give him such a flowery speech; it wasn't like I _meant_ any of it! Oh no, that would be the last thing that would happen to me – to fall in love with _Clement_!

To fall in love with Clement was to voluntarily throw yourself into lake, not knowing its depth. It could be as deep as the ocean, or it could be up to your shoulders, and you had to know how to swim. Speaking literally, you had to know how to tolerate him without being harsh.

And I knew for a fact that I could _not_ stand him; I don't know what came over me when I admitted that we were friends, because we weren't. And yet, I still said that. I needed a second to breathe and think of something else; Clement was not a topic in which both halves of my mind agreed, exactly.

But as I suddenly began to doze off, exhausted by the day's plights, one solitary image haunted my thoughts, though was not precisely a dream: Clement, riding beside me as though he had born to ride horses, laughing as his wavy dark hair flew back, grinning and laughing at the same time, and his cobalt eyes giving me a look that I unconsciously knew was a look only for me.

And while I slept, I smiled.

**A/N**: Ahh… the romance and gushiness of it. I don't know how I was able to fit a sad, anguished moment along with a sweet, tender, loving moment, but I did it. I don't know if I did myself justice on this chapter, but one can only hope. And **btw**, Clement's hair isn't long: short hair can fly back too when going at a fast pace.

Isn't it a marvel that Clement's managed to have Eszti in love with him, despite how stubborn she is? But it actually isn't hard to believe; had I been of age (and had he been real), I wouldn't have resisted falling in love with him either.

So review, bear with me as I struggle to keep the chapters coming with a decent pace, and **DON'T FLAME**!


	9. Farewell

**Forenote:**

I will be starting something new for myself now, something called 'forenotes'. It'll be a quick note relating to the story, something like a preview or warning, although not quite. It'll be a sentence or too that hints some contents of the story, or on some days it would just be purely warnings. I like the name (forenotes, forenotes, forenotes, it's catchy, is it not?) so that's what they'll be. And if ANYBODY – **_ANYBODY _**– tries to take this idea, it's their neck. Really.

The actual forenote: Chapter 9 is, sadly enough, full of sadness. The beginning is pleasant with sadness slipped in, the middle drama with sadness slipped in, and the end is just purely sadness. It's brilliant! Ooh, the grimness…

**Responses:**

**TrudiRose – **To your little scruple about the gypsy-nomadic thing… gypsies are known for their traveling, but it's usually within a single country, or perhaps even two countries. Otherwise it'd be very difficult for a whole pack of people to survive traveling to the other side of the world, and that's precisely what Lieron had been wanting to do. And it is true that he asked Azalea if she could go with them after they wed, but if you take it into a certain perspective, you realize that the entire tribe consider one another family. Azalea couldn't even imagine leaving everyone for the sake of traveling, because she didn't share the same dream and shared one that was quite the opposite: living a domestic life with three children, growing old with the faces she had grown up with… she was that kind of person. And Lieron knew Azalea couldn't wait… she was young and eager, and Lieron knew he'd be traveling for a long time.

:reads above: Wow, I should've included everything more clearly, shouldn't I? But I figured I had enough details ((I even included colors!), so I didn't really feel that I should've added that. But I guess I should've…

And your next inquiry was rather interesting as well, and something I had previously thought of once or twice while writing this story. But Eszti had been forced to explain everything to Clement (excluding her true name) to keep from being a true prisoner, and that included her friends (although she didn't use their names either). She had to explain why she tried to take the horse, and as you know, it's mostly her friends' fault -D But coming to the point, Clement knew that Eszti's friends could've guessed what happened to her, and being panicked they'd notify the camp, and Eszti's absence would be explained. So basically, they could barge into the palace and try to steal Eszti back, but they'd die before reaching her ((it would be considered a royal offense and an attempted robbery – and perhaps kidnapping, since Eszti is thought to be a noble guest)). Interesting, isn't it, how everything seems to work out in the royalty's favor?

**flyinghigh808** – Omg, thank you! I'm glad that I didn't make an arse of myself with this, and I hope I don't disappoint you anytime in the future ((although my updating rate has probably already accomplished that for me)). I don't think I'd be encouraged enough to continue this fic had it not been for supportive readers like you -)

**Arein ** - I'm glad I'm not the only one likely to swoon for Clement -D And I wouldn't say that she's mad in love with him at the moment… no, she knows she's slowing falling ((painfully falling)), but doesn't want to. And being truthful, her love will not end up unrequited, although that would make an excellent plot :is whacked with giant planks by editors for revealing that: However, I will not guarantee a happy ending -D

Note: I am savoring a time when all my readers are still fond of the direction in which I am going… this is because I know there will be a time when everybody will hate me. Oh yes, believe me, every Eszti-fan will hate my guts, lmao. And I look forward to it ((yes, I am very insane)).

**Holly** – Lol, don't worry… so long as I draw breath ((or still have Internet)), this fic isn't going anywhere. Wait… it will be going somewhere because there is a plot, but it won't be moving… like ending… before its time… whatever! You get my point!

**chandni **– We meet online again, Mimi :grins: And I certainly will update until I reach the Epilogue ((which will certainly be uploaded)), because otherwise I'd feel guilty that I'm depriving you people of my wonderful fic… lmao, just kidding, but I would get guilty. And remorseful. But no worries… this fanfic may take a while to get updated, but at least it'll be finished ((:grumbles: unlike some _other _wonderful fanfics in the world…))

**LindyLou78 ** - You thought that was sad! Wow… you people will not make it through this chapter. It even got me a tad depressed, since I am strangely empathetic ((I cry for any sad movie… Bruce Almighty was one – hey! stop laughing! Grace's prayer was sad, okay!)). But yes, I admit, Azalea's story was a sad one. And lol, I'm really sorry to say that you're right, in a way… this story does not have a good ending or a sad ending… it's up to the reader to decide. As you can tell, Eszti is torn between two worlds, and she cannot have both at one time.

**Clavel **– Thank you! I like sweet… it's fluffy, and fluffy is undiluted sugary-goodness.

P.S: You're welcome, but know that you wrote it, and everything LM's earned is something you brought about.

**blueforest – **Bimbos are hilarious, I agree, and for that I shall bring her about in times of drama and monotony, just to watch something funny happen. She will be very jealous, and that makes it funnier. But sorry to say, only a mention of her is in this chapter, although she will certainly be starring in the next -D

Should I ruin another dress of hers? A prettier one, maybe? It's your decision!

**kerricarri **– You seem rather happy today, don't you, lol? And don't worry, blah is an excellent word! I use it on a decent basis as well, especially in frustration or times that deserve a "Yeah. Great. Whatever." Well, someone did manage to flame my fic, but only because she thought gypsies shouldn't wear purple. DOES ANYONE BLOODY CARE WHETHER THEY WEAR PURPLE OR TOILET PAPER! It's my _fantasy_ fic, and I can do whatever I bloody want with it!

:sighs: I'm sorry for the outburst, but her flame was so pointless and was soooo far from constructive criticism that I exploded. It was POINTLESS. You can view it, but you'll just wonder why she has to be so… _unfair_. Unjust. Inconsiderate.

And I hate those ideal, stereotypical fairytales! They have no practicality at all! Nobody gets sad, nobody gets mad, and nobody dies! Ahh… nobody _dies_! That's what unbalanced me! No balance! But this could hopefully break that stereotype with this fic, and that's pretty much my general goal. And I'm planning to create a revised, more sensible version of another popular fairytale, but I won't say… I don't want the idea to get out ((it's a very original idea, actually)).

**mistyqueen** – Lol, here's the next update! But I didn't include much of Marcella in this fic ((to be honest, I didn't include her at all :smiles apologetically:)) but it focuses on other aspects of the story, so I think it's necessary. But her story's not done… oh no, it's far from that, lol.

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**Chapter 9: Farewell**

-

My hands were aching beyond description, and I was sure that the flesh was now so tender that it would start bleeding in a matter of minutes. But I ignored the swelling of my palm as I gripped the stone pestle, grinding the _astirae_ flowers even harder. And for a precious moment, I felt like I was home again, working on a new concoction that I heard had miraculous effects. The potion I was making, however, was one I had made many times before, but I needed its aid now more than ever, and so I ignored the continuous tensing of my shoulders.

I had been grinding the astirae into a colorless, glutinous powder for a little past an hour, but that was only how it felt. Maybe it was longer, since I had been entertaining myself with the countless fairy tales I had favored so much. But I was grateful for the opportunity to make the emotionally-soothing _astirae_ tea, so I dared not complain. I had fortunately gotten permission to use the royal healer's tower and stores to make the _astirae_ tea from Clement, and I had been working at it for a good part of the morn.

It was getting late in the morning, but I had been here since the early dawn. White-gold light was now streaming through the tower window, and I had opened it halfway earlier to let in wafts of air from the coasts, which weren't far from Arvette. At the moment, I had prepared the bubbling hot water for the tea, and I had already added the lentils, saffron, and dried chamomile flower heads; I was merely preparing the viscous powder that required a good handful of _astirae_ flowers. It was not too easy a task, but Lieron needed it, even if he didn't entirely deserve it, I thought with some bitterness.

The locks on the wooden chamber door clanged and rattled, and the door opened to reveal Clement, who was smiling lazily in a hunter's outfit of sorts. He glanced at the herbal ingredients scattered on my working table for a brief moment, and then smiled wider at me in greeting.

"Been up long?" he asked, taking a seat by my table. I did not look at him, but only concentrated on my concoction. If I distracted myself now, I would never finish.

"You wouldn't believe me if I explained," I croaked, stopping for a moment to mix around the powder, and then I started up my pounding. But of course, I thought with a little exhaustion, my last cup of water was – what? 15 hours ago? No, wait, that was wine… I groaned.

"Oh, I would believe it… I've already guessed," Clement responded. I stopped for a split second to raise my eyebrows and replied, "Going out hunting today, aren't you? So long as you don't take Lieron with you, I won't snap."

"It is the other way around, Rozenta. He invited me hunting today, because he'd be leaving tomorrow. He didn't tell you?"

I sucked in my breath sharply; he was leaving tomorrow? And he would barely be here today? How could I find the guts to apologize for that dreadful story before then, and more so find the time to give him this potion? I wasn't making this tea for nothing.

"Tomorrow? Are you sure?" I resumed my steady pounding; _thud_, _scrape_, _thud_, _scrape_.

"He told me himself. What have you been killing yourself making anyway, Rozenta?" He looked curiously at the series of ingredients scattered on the table, picking up few dried chamomile flower heads and examining it closely.

"A tea," I said in a strained voice, hastening my pounding. "For Lieron. He didn't take the news of Azalea's death well."

Clement was silent for a moment.

"No, I'd imagine not. The tea would do him good, I suppose."

"Would do him good? It'd do him more than a miracle… rather, a tenfold of miracles. This sort of tea is very strong, you know."

"I trust you then, so long as you're sure this won't kill him. Just make sure he doesn't go so happy that he forgets to weep for Azalea. A man is nothing without his grief."

This knocked a laugh out of me, and my task of pounding and scraping and lifting and pounding again became a little easier to bear.

"A man is nothing without his grief? Is that so… I always thought you were proud, bold creatures that would never show their feminine side. I suppose I was wrong."

Clement sniggered and watched me pound and scrape and lift and pound again for a long moment, his look softening. He raised his eyes and watched my face, and I subconsciously found myself not minding it. I denied it however, but my subconscious mind was choosing to let my mind wander.

_He's so different now, _thought a twittery, girlish part of me._ He used to be so vexing but now… he's just too sweet._

The hand gripping my pestle stopped, and I mentally raged at myself for allowing my mind to wander into such dangerous territories. This rage went on for half a minute, and afterwards a single thought floated through my mind: _By the light of Grace… I am falling for him_.

By impulse, my head whipped around, and I glared at him, annoyed.

"Stop staring at me like that, you tyrant," I snapped, bristling and resuming my task. He didn't answer, but only smirked swiftly and made his way to the door. I did not stop pounding again to acknowledge his leaving, and he showed no response to this.

"I'll be off hunting with Lieron, and I'll be back tonight. Look for me then." He did not smile, and only left without a word. The door clicked close, and only then did my pestle stop. But it only stopped long enough to let me say one thing mentally.

_I am not falling for you, Clement, and I will not look for you. Oh, by the light, I am not falling for you!_

And so it started up again: _thud, scrape, thud, scrape, _and _thud _again. The One-Eyed Crone, a story my mother loved telling, played itself in my head, and no thoughts of Clement pestered me for the rest of the day.

-

Clement and Lieron had returned early from hunting that day, though they did come back in the evening. I had long finished the _astirae_ tea by then and was only aiding the kitchen cooks (along with Eder – Elaine had been given the task of Marguerite's right-hand serving lady, so it wasn't surprising that Elaine had barely any time to spend with Eder and myself that night, save for a few hellos). Marcella had come into the kitchens and told me that Clement was requesting my presence in the parlor. I had sighed – though it sounded exasperated, it was actually one of remorse – and left to the parlor with Lieron's _astirae_ tea in a silver goblet with a black embroidered napkin on top, just because it had a pretty effect.

Clement and Lieron were deep in conversation when I arrived, and both were tan and merry after their hunt. Lieron looked considerably happier than when I had met him last, but those hollows under his eyes were still there, and he was still considerably quieter, but Clement and I knew he was getting better. And the tea would only top off all things good.

"Rozenta, hello," Lieron said cheerfully, welcoming me with a hearty smile. "Good to see you again. You're doing well, I trust?"

"Of course, Lieron Dairin," I laughed good-naturedly. "It was only yesterday when we spoke last."

"You didn't look for me, Rozenta," Clement said lazily, an idle smile on his face. Mines faltered and I only looked him in the eye for a second before deftly dropping my gaze.

"I was busy," I countered gravely, no trace of a grin on my face. Clement noticed this and frowned, but I had already turned to Lieron and had graciously handed him the silver goblet.

"Here, Lieron, take this. It's a very warming tea I made for you this morning," I offered nervously, knowing it was more than just a _tea_. "I guessed that it would be a decent way to say 'I'm sorry' for telling you of… Azalea."

A shadowed look passed over Lieron's face for a fleeting second, but it was very swift. He still wore his smile as he just-as-graciously took the goblet and pulled the napkin from over it. He breathed in a waft of the concoctions, and instantly his eyes brightened.

"I thank you, Rozenta, but you didn't have to make it for me. I could've made myself a tea, you know."

_Not an _astirae_ tea, you can't_, I thought to myself, but I didn't voice this. Instead, I said, "It wasn't a bother, but I won't drop this sweet nature of mine so long as you down all of it."

He grinned. "A sweet Rozenta is a rather disturbing thing, is it not?"

I laughed, and Clement's rich laughing tones joined in as well. I flashed him a smile without knowing, and then I mentally gasped in horror as I realized what I had done.

Lieron noticed the rather sentimental exchange between Clement and I (although I wasn't doing it voluntarily, I swear!), and his eyes grew smoky.

"What do we have here, eh? Think you're fit to be queen, Rozie?"

I gasped and made a move to strike him, but playfully so. Clement watched our banter with what I suspect was bliss on his face.

"Well," I said hastily, my black eyes flashing dangerously with anger as I changed the subject. "You should've told me you were leaving tomorrow, Lieron. I didn't know."

Lieron frowned. "Nobody told you sooner? Well, I thought it would've gotten to you earlier, but I suppose not." Then he finally took a sip of the _astirae_ tea, and the deep breath that followed seemed relieved beyond words. "This is an excellent tea, by the way, Rozenta. Warms me from my head to my toes."

I nodded slowly in gratitude for the compliment. At least I knew that I had done the potion right, and that it was having a rather satisfying effect on his mood.

"Thank you, Lieron; I didn't think the tea would be that appetizing. I am not a fan of tea. Well, I do not know what you and the Prince have planned next," I said, "but I shall be getting back to the kitchens, now. Cook Brinya promised me two servings of the calyum berry cake she is presently making if I am of any assistance. I will see you tomorrow, Lieron, before you leave."

And with a final nod, I turned and headed out the parlor door, but didn't notice Clement follow behind me.

-

I jumped when I felt someone suddenly grip my arm in the hallway, for I had been too engrossed in my own thoughts. I whipped around and saw that I faced him directly. I flushed unconsciously and wrenching my arm from his grip, I made to hurry back to the kitchens. He had a strong grip, however, so I was wrenching to know avail whatsoever.

"Are you mad at me, Rozenta?" he asked suddenly as I struggled against his grip. "What did I do to deserve your wrath then, if that is the case?"

I stopped fighting for a moment to look him in the eye, searching for any sincerity. And I wasn't disappointed; his eyes held stretches of feeling for me, but I didn't like this. This scared me, and I knew that if he continued like this, I'd find it hard to avoid falling for him. If I didn't fall for him already.

"Why do you care?" I demanded brusquely, my face emptying itself of expression.

"You called me '_Prince_' back there, Rozenta! That isn't normal! Why have you been avoiding me? I thought we were on decent terms!" Clement exclaimed, his voice rising with every word. I had the vague feeling that a nosy little maid or two would eavesdrop on us sooner or later and start up new rumors, but that was the last thing I needed to worry about right now; and Clement was not making things any easier for me.

"I can call you whatever I like, Prince," I snapped formally, wrenching once more. But the grip had gone tighter, and it was starting to hurt. I winced and blinked a little from the pain of it, but overall I defiantly ignored the fact that I would probably be getting a dandy little bruise out of this.

"Rozenta," his voice was surprisingly desperate right now, and I refused to look him in the face. "Just answer me. Why are you mad at me?"

Silence reigned for a stretching moment, and I was thinking too hard for an excuse. And ironically, my brain was currently shutting itself off, and that was something that was highly inconvenient in a situation like this. I had stopped fighting while he was still pleading, and I paled. I could think of nothing to say, and I wouldn't _dare_ say the truth. Oh no, I would've thrown myself into the sea before saying the truth, and the even sadder thing was that I wasn't even sure of what was the truth anymore. I couldn't tell the difference between the cold, hard truth and the little whims my sentimental side liked to fabricate.

An anticipating pause. And then –

"I am not mad at you, Clement. But you have no idea," and here I laughed mirthlessly, a cold, hollow sound that made my own flesh shiver. "Oh, by the light, you have absolutely no idea what I'm going through because of you. And I'm not going to tell you." (This answer was dreadfully vague because I couldn't exactly specify why I dreaded his presence so.)

My lips curled into a smile as Clement stared, dumbstruck, at me. I found his grip on my arm had slackened, and I took advantage of this. I wrenched my arm towards my chest and lifted my skirts, making it easier for me to run to the kitchens.

He called my name once, but I was too busy laughing like mad at my own stupidity to hear it.

-

The next dawning was rather depressing for me, and I began to miss home more enthusiastically than ever. It was as though coming to the castle had completely altered my life, and was killing me inside. I didn't believe for a second that I could actually have fallen for the Prince (as I was now resorting to calling him), and I found that to be a rather dangerous situation. Marguerite, for example, hated me much more than ever when she would ever see Clement looking at me in that funny way, and I knew for a fact that Clement's father, King Ignatius, would hate me also. King Ignatius loved the idea of Marguerite as queen, so I couldn't possibly please him, as un-Marguerite-like as I was.

And so, to get to the point, I was beyond miserable and I wept, yet again, for home.

That day also brought me saddening news: Lieron was leaving today. He was my one consolation through these past few days, as a fellow camp member, but I knew he couldn't stay. There was nothing here he had to stay, least of all to only satisfy my wants.

I could've asked him if I could travel with him only long enough to reach Arvette Forest, but I was sure that if I even bothered asking him, he'd only laugh and call me a silly little girl.

And so, it was with an unutterable dread that I dressed (into a grey-and-black gown, to express my mood) and hauled myself out of the refuge of my room. I had managed to steal a corner of quiet in the library, where I knew Marguerite (she was the last person I needed to see at a time like this) would never wander. My face was buried in a tragic, age-old story, but my mind was elsewhere.

Two familiar figures came into the library, one slender and tall and one plump and short. Frankly, I was avoiding them, but of course, I was currently avoiding everyone. It seemed that everybody was one the side of Clement and Lieron lately, and that I was always wrong. Eder and Elaine were among them: they thought that everything was going along fine, and that I had no reason to despair. And I was too tired to bother correcting them; the story was too long.

They found me, of course, and came over, their eyes gazing at me with concern. I sank into my seat and completely hid my face in my book, tears starting at the corners of my eyes. I heard a gasp – from Elaine, I would guess – and I felt a plump, snug arm come over my shoulders – from Eder – and someone rocked me back and forth. And the tears finally spilt, coming forth as sudden, silent, translucent streams.

"Oh, goodness, child," Eder scolded warmly, her voice sharp with motherly care. "Don't cry… Lieron Dairin is not worth all these tears."

"It's not that!" I cried out indignantly, my cry hoarse from tears. Eder and Elaine exchanged confused looks, and I heard Elaine whisper to Eder, "Then what?" I wanted to jump up and glare at them, but found I couldn't. They were being so kind to me right now, when I was breaking down, and I couldn't' possibly "thank" them in such an ungrateful way.

So I settled at protesting unnecessarily loud, and being unnecessarily brutal.

"Why would I cry over Lieron? He was being a selfish brute anyway, when he left Azalea! He should've waited until they were wed, and then he could go and see the world! Couldn't he have waited the few remaining months? But I don't cry over men!" I cried, the last being a semi-explosion. And I curled myself up, and let Eder hold me tighter, and let Elaine shush me with soothing words.

But I didn't listen to their _rational_ explanations, I didn't want to care. I was tired of being rational, or waiting to return home for so long, of enduring the torment that Clement had so ruthlessly caused me! Oh, how I hated him! Why couldn't he see that his attempt at taming a free spirit was entirely in vain? Why couldn't he see that I was slowly deteriorating, waiting painfully to return home? Why couldn't he see?

_And why could no one understand!_

My tears grew stronger (although still very silent), my breath coming in quicker, less satisfying breaths. Maybe if I died, they'd understand what was happening to me. Maybe. Maybe if I killed myself – something drastic, but appealing at a moment like this – by holding back my breath long enough, they'd notice what they did. What _Clement_ did. And what no one bothered to stop.

"So then, Rozenta dear, why do you cry?" Elaine asked gently, her voice full of harmonic desperation for my sake.

"Home, Elaine! Home!"

My tears began to cease, and my breath was lengthening, much to my disappointment. I wasn't strong enough to hold back my breath at the moment, and even if I was, I was too eager for their response to kill myself before I could get it. There was a deathly silence after my outburst, and Eder and Elaine shared grave looks. Finally, Eder gave me a brief, final hug and watched me sadly with her grim gaze.

"I know, Rozenta. But there's not much you can do about it."

Silence. Oooh, the powerful silence… nothing was said for about 5 minutes. Contemplation reigned all. But then Elaine spoke, quite suddenly, with a tender tone that did not match the stony look in her eyes. But even her eyes seemed softened with sadness.

"Do you really hate Sir Lieron that much, Rozenta? Do you?"

I replied slowly, my voice thick with guilt and remorse. "No, not really. That was only an outburst. A very unnecessary one." I sniffed once.

Eder scoffed suddenly, eyeing me with exasperation. "Then don't hate us when we tell you why we came. Sir Lieron and his Highness sent word that his Lordship – Lieron, I mean – is leaving. Now. They are at the front of the palace, on horses and in idle conversation."

My jaw dropped. Leaving? NOW? And I spent all this time _crying!_ He was probably gone already, and I didn't even say goodbye! And I needed to see if the tea worked! How could I have been careless with the time? How!

"Now?" I asked Eder and Elaine in a small voice, losing hope is great quantities.

Elaine's frigid gaze widened. "Oh, hurry Rozenta! They'll be leaving soon! They might've already gone!"

I didn't need a second telling; Eder didn't flinch when I wrenched myself from her hold, which I did, and Elaine did not block me. In fact, the scary thing was that I barely faced any obstacles, or perhaps I did but was too preoccupied to notice. Either way, I got there fine, but with eyes red-rimmed, face pale and thin, and cheeks stained with dried tears. I must've looked a madwoman, for I frightened more than a handful of servants (and perhaps a noble here and there, and maybe even a guest, but I wouldn't know…) but eventually I made it to the front, but the sight was not one that greeted me with jollity.

Lieron was already riding away, with a soldier escort or two riding closely behind, and he was soon becoming just a miniscule speck in the distance. Clement had not gone with him, but had simply watched him ride at the front of castle, on his grey (white and black at the same time, like the winds) stallion, Aeolus. Clement watched him go with a far-off, distant, mixed with remorse.

I walked up behind him, biting my lip and staring into the distance through which Lieron rode. Where hysteria was, there was only exhaustion. Where there had been a fighting torrent of feelings, there was only a hollow emptiness, the sad kind of emptiness that though it was nothing, it still gave off traces of what it had. I could still feel the pit of sadness, but it was barely there; just a shadow of sadness. I could still sense the hollow of anger, but I scarce could feel it; it, too, was a shadow. In me, nothing was real. I was empty.

Clement turned, horse and all, and faced him, his expression utterly unreadable. Thick, developing clouds of thunder were rolling onto the dreary firmament, and they gave off rumbling noises that indicated the coming of a storm. I still stared into the distance, still clutched inwardly for the feelings I once possessed.

Was this how Elaine always felt, I wondered off-handedly, having no emotions? But I was being silly; of course she had emotions, but she rarely expressed them, and she never expressed them through her eyes.

"You should've come earlier," Clement said to me, his tone unreadable. "Then perhaps you would've said good-bye."

Silence. A pause. Then –

"Perhaps. But it's over, he's gone, he won't come back. Not for a while. It doesn't matter." I sighed, and where there was no emotion, exhaustion filled every bit of it.

I was tired, and cold, and hungry. Oh yes, very hungry. My breakfast was not substantial for even a few hours, and I had no lunch at all. And now it was coming to dinnertime, and I was ready to cry from everything. Everything. Hunger, confusion, remorse, homesickness, and just plain sadness. But I kept calm and looked at Clement with serious eyes.

"Will you walk or ride?" He asked suddenly, his mood brightening. I stared at him in confusion, and then I glanced at Aeolus, who was named after the god of winds. I had seen him ride before, and I had been impressed; he was an excellent horse. But to ride him right behind Clement? No, it was a ludicrous idea, and I was not a weak, hapless little lass.

"I will walk, thank you," I said defiantly, turning strictly on my heel. Hunger still had me a bit dazed, and sadness was burning like a furnace inside of me, but I wanted none of it. I would return to my quarters, to brood in the desperate silence, and perhaps to die of starvation. Yes, that was a rather tempting idea. Perhaps I would try it…

I walked, like the ghost that was Rozenta and a shadow of what Eszti had once been, in silence to the guests' building. Clement stared after me, or so I felt as I walked on, but said nothing.

That night I actually managed to make it to my quarters, and although I was sure I had fainted, I had fallen into a cold, stony sleep. And no one disturbed me.

**Afterthoughts: **I have officially (in a way) decided to stop using Author's Notes! Hooray for me! I was simply in the mood to start something new… the forenote will be called the 'Forenote' and the end note will be called 'Afterthoughts'. Is that too hard to digest? And remember, this idea is officially (in a way) copyrighted ©.


	10. Another Option

**Forenote:** I really wish there were something clever and witty I could say to redeem myself, but I am afraid there is no such phrase that could accomplish that. All I can say is this: I am well-aware that I left the story hanging on an inexcusable height, and though I denounce those authors that abandon their stories and torture their readers, I have come to realize that I am among them. I do not do so intentionally, but things do happen that distract me from the business I have melded with my once only recreational activities. As a writer on it is my sole responsibility to keep my readers entertained and satisfied, and to stay true to my story, and sorrowful as I am that I had failed for this time, I am hoping to meet a new start. I do hope you'd all come to forgive me, and although I know it'd be too easy to once again fail you all, I only wish that it wouldn't be too difficult to trust me as a devoted reader, once again.

_Rasielle_

**Responses: **I expect that my Forenote would suffice for this portion, would it not?

o...o...o...o...o

**Chapter 10: **Another Option

They say time will certainly heal the deepest hurts and guilts, but they never mention that it either takes a lifetime, or disappears while leaving a scar that hurts whenever it is touched. One always finds him or herself learning that on their own, and it is never without sufferance. Although it was not my personal loss, I still hurt for Lieron and Azalea, and I still throbbed with guilt at the very thought.

Eder and Elaine took note of the distance I so blatantly placed between myself and everyone else, and they respected my choice enough to keep away. I no longer smiled, and I kept to my quarters more often, and I soon began to wonder about the true purpose of my stay. What was it, precisely? I did no task to hold me here; I stayed off my punishment, did I not? But whatever the reason, it was up to Clement whether I stayed or went, where and how I spent the rest of my time here. I knew not of the reasons _he _had in mind, but I evaded him especially, depriving myself of a chance to question him. And either way, he wouldn't tell me his true intention. He would shirk an honest answer by saying something witty and decided, something that would silence anything I would've said next.

In fact, I spent a near-week like this, speaking to no one, having my meals sent up to my quarters, nicking books from the library in great stacks, just so I may entertain myself. No one tried to stop me. My tongue's use decreased while my analysis skills sharpened.

It was quite a surprise when I heard the forceful thuds of a visitor after a meal had been served - I hadn't heard such a noise in days.

I had been reading a book of philosophy, titled, "A Place for All", written by a particularly observant monk recluse, one who had died many years back. The sharp rapping disturbed me, and I almost decided that the sounds were imagined - that is, until Elaine's familiar silver tones slip into my hearing, calling my name angrily. Startled, I hurried to my door - my book in hand - and unlocked it quickly. Locked doors brought me security and guaranteed solitude.

Elaine glided in, sparing me a feverish glance, and she promptly snatched the book from my unwary hands. Indignant, I stared at her, but then noticed a change. While she normally lived with a steady, relaxed air, she was frantic now. Her youth was glossed over with early stress and a hot will, and I read anger in her features. I bit back my sullen remark; she did not need any opposition at the moment, no more than I needed a distraction. It was my theory that Marguerite's constant demanding was driving her to the brink.

"Your incessant brooding is not necessary, Rozenta," she said briskly, her icy eyes boring into mine. "As much as you'd like to deny it, your presence is needed in court - don't you wonder what the other courtiers say as you hide behind your books, in the safety of your chamber?"

Stressed or no, Elaine was treading onto dangerous ground. I drew myself up with an intense gaze, my tongue ready for slaughter and my mind reeling with past excerpts from that shelf of philosophy texts. "Elaine, you know as well as I that what the courtiers think matters not to me. I am not necessary in the nobles' Webs, and nor do I want to be, so if his Highness sent you, tell him that I send you back with contempt. When someone wants to be alone, they should never be denied the privilege - noble or not. The nobles can live without my intrusions, and Marguerite is most likely more than pleased that I am no longer present to distract, and I am despised throughout the court either way. It is time for Clement to mature as I have, for we are no longer the children we were before, and if he misses my spirit, let him know that he is to blame for the dying of my fire."

But Elaine would not have it. Although I could barely have called it possible, her eyes hardened, and she pursed her lips thin. I saw true anger flash on her face, and frustration, and exhaustion. "Rozenta, you know as well as I that looking back on past mistakes won't help anything. Be smart and use that well-educated mind of yours. You're a clever wench." And then, surprisingly enough, her tight face softened, relieving her pretty, classic features. Tension did not present them at their best. "I only beg of you as a friend that you abandon your nonsense this instant. We all miss you, and sympathize with you, but you cannot bury yourself like this."

I stared at her, marveling at how she could possibly understand; but, I reasoned, even if she hadn't been fed the entire true story, she knew enough to get the concept of how I felt. She was a remarkable companion.

Tired and resigned, I lowered my eyes and spoke with a quavering voice. "I'm sorry. I truly, truly am. It is only that... everything is starting to get to me. The novelty is wearing off." I smiled sadly. "I do not belong here."

Elaine shook her head. "No, you don't. But the point, my dear, is that you are here -" she tugged on my arm, leading me towards the door, "and you will be here for a while -" she pulled the door open and led me out, "and you will learn to manage. For this, I apologize with all the sincerity a girl like myself can muster, but the truth remains that this is your situation, and that you have no other choice than to make the very best of it."

The peeved air around her was gone; I suppose I proved sincere enough. That was good. And I had been sincere, more sincere than I had been in a while ever since the start of this folly charade, and I warmed a little inside. She was my friend, and was a very good one, and it would be a shame to lose her friendship; she did not deserve my coldness.

Her eyes were still cold, though. But I thought not of it. They were as such naturally. "But now onto business - as enlightening as our conversation was, Rozenta, I called upon your quarters with a reason. A very stirring reason. I shall say not too much, because you haven't much time to prepare, but I only have a little to say, actually: his Majesty Prince Clement requests your presence in the dining room in a quarter hour, and that if you'd wish to present yourself adequately for their Highnesses, the King and Queen, you would wear gold."

She grinned (or, at least, her mouth did - her eyes did nothing), but I stared at her, my mind reeling. The... King and Queen? And no one could warn me of this earlier? Were they mad? And I didn't even have a reason for staying... their Majesties may think me a mistress of Clement or something of the like, and if I were to dress in gold today, that meant...

They'd be here by evening.

After uttering a hurried thanks to Elaine - who did in fact continue to look very amused - I rushed back into my chamber and dressed quickly and carefully. There were two or more gold gowns in my borrowed wardrobe, but I needed something simple. Too much frippery on my apparel would make me seem too noble, and I wasn't even close to such a thing. I found a goldish-green dress with only two petticoats, and chose it. It was perfect.

o...o...o...o...o

"This way, milady," piped a thin, golden-haired serving girl who was escorting me to the dining hall. She was pretty, I would say, with very aristocratic features, but her expression constantly displayed her distaste for being here, there, and doing whatever she was doing at the present moment. She presented herself as Giselle, but I personally thought the name a tad too noble for a young maid like herself.

I followed the snobby little maid down the path cutting through the royal courtyard, and into the snowy palace. Her feet moved fast and nimbly, as mine honestly couldn't, so I relied on my own wit most of the way down the halls.

We arrived in record short time, and she stood by the door, waiting with an impatient twist to her lips. I smoothed my gold gown, raised my chin defiantly - I would _not_ falter in Clement's presence; I would be strength itself, merely forced into flesh - and nodded imperiously to Giselle. Again, I was playing the part of a noblewoman, and I was getting better with each change to practice.

"You may leave me now, Giselle. I thank you for the guidance."

"It's only my job, milady, and I'm afraid that a part of that instructs me to lead you all the way." She opened the gold-gilded doors, expecting me to pass through with her trailing behind me. "I am instructed to lead you inside the hall as well, and I shall do so. If it bothers ye not, milady." Her curtsey was swift and uncommitted, as was her tone. "Now in we go."

I raised my eyebrows lightly, but stepped in anyway, allowing her to follow behind. The halls were empty, save for maids and servants here and there, readying up the hall for the King and Queen's arrival. Seated lazily at the long, golden table was Clement, who did not realize my arrival until Giselle and I were somewhat near enough.

But when he did, he gawked, abandoning all the diplomacy that accompanied his title as a prince.

"Your Majesty," Giselle said hurriedly, dropping a true curtsey. She came up, blushing furiously. "I have brought the lordess, as you commanded, your Highness." She smiled shyly at him, her annoyed appearance falling. "You look well today, if I may say so."

Surprised and highly amused by the girl's actions, I swallowed my glee. Her fancy for him was much too obvious, but - I noted - she did not embellish. He did look well. His white satin dress shirt was hidden partially by a midnight blue doublet lined with some gold - Spanish style. But still, I was not one to acknowledge things of the sort.

Clement smiled his trademark smile - roguish and very winning. "I do not execute those who compliment, Giselle. You too look very fine today." The little blonde beamed and flushed magenta at this. "You have my gratitude for bringing Lady Rozenta. I may call upon you again for another errand; be wary."

Her nod was a bit too eager, and she stepped away with a bounce in her step after uttering, "Your Majesty" in a joyous tone. When she was well away, I greeted Clement properly. I should've bowed before, but I was too preoccupied with Giselle's presentation to remember.

"Your Highness." My greeting was curt, as was the deep nod that followed. He frowned at my formality.

"It is very fortunate that I actually managed to pull you from that confounded chamber of yours, but you seem changed. Does something displease you?" he asked, his tone touched with concern and a bit of frustration as well.

I pursed my lips. "You dare to ask me that, Prince Clement?"

His temper began to rise; I could simply see it. "Yes, I do dare. I've tried my best to let you do as you pleased, but the other courtiers are beginning to notice. It is not in the nature of a noblewoman to hide herself from society."

My anger was piqued. "It is not any of my concern what they think, or what they question. It is no concern of theirs to busy themselves with what I do. I would've thought that their own lives were too hectic to allow such idle thought."

"I've tipped someone over, hmm?"

"Oh, don't say that. I've been mad at you for so long a time now, and you do not know it?"

He paused. "Any particular reason?"

"The same reason I am in this ridiculous dress."

A boyish grin broke across his face, lighting it up. It nearly unseated me. I could never stay mad at him for so long.

"It is a ridiculous dress, yes, but a beautiful one. It makes you look stunning."

I wanted to glare, to glower, to hold tight onto my determination to keep my rage. It was what kept me strong. I definitely did not want my face to break into a foolishly pleased smile, and nor did I want to let the words, "It does? I hadn't thought so" pass from my lips. But it happened anyway.

He chuckled. "You barely look at the pleasant and beautiful things about you, don't you? It's quite a shame; there are so many that I didn't think you'd miss any of them."

I did not open my mouth for fear that I'd let out a delighted squeak.

He stared at me with that stupid, childish grin on his face, and I struggled to keep my face blank and uncaring. But inside me... feelings were all a-fire. I wanted to hate him for what he did to me, for taking me away from all that I held dear, but... I found I couldn't. And for that too, I was enraged, for never before had I been so weak in resolve. I wanted to strike him dead, but at the same time, I wanted to make him smile again.

He abandoned his fool's grin for a more serious pose, and clapped his hands together in a business-like manner. And I knew it instantly; I just knew it. It had always been in the back of my mind. My stay here had been too idle, and had been without task and work for too long a time, and now they'd make me make up for all that now. There was business to be taken care of, and I would be the one to do so.

"But I called you down here for a reason, rather than to compliment you. If that had been my sole purpose, I would've just broken down your chamber door and showered you with heartfelt gush."

I grunted. He was certainly not that desperate.

"So there is a favor I ask of you. I've been formulating the idea in my mind all this time, and I knew not how'd you feel on the matter, but now I shall finally find out. You've been presented with this idea before, although you surely cannot remember."

I frowned in puzzlement. He lost me there.

"But... even as a pretend noblewoman, you certainly play the part well. You are charismatic, and logical, and very persuasive -"

"Spare me."

"Fine, fine, I'll be brief. But you are, I'll let you know -"

"Clement..."

"All right, all right." He grinned; it was almost a laugh. "I ask of you a politician; one who may represent. One who can truly speak on the behalf of their people, and not lie once."

My eyes widened.

"Would you represent the Gypsies at my parents' welcoming feast?"

Every adoring feeling I currently harbored for him flew out the window; I wanted to shriek. This was... an outrage! The idea was as outrageous now as it had been when it was first presented: on my first breakfast in the suffocating palace! I did not think him serious, and I knew in the back of my mind that I had no choice, but the indignity of it all was absolutely preposterous. A politician! The idea was mere lunacy!

"You cannot ask this of me. You cannot!"

He sighed, rubbing his forehead as a gesture of frustration. "I can, and I do. How else can you expect me to present you to my parents? As my personal whore?"

I gasped and gaped, even if I knew that to be an embellishment. If he hadn't been born a Crown Prince, I would've slapped him.

"But Clement... these are your parents! You cannot possibly think that I can pass off as a representative of Gypsies! And that would spoil my secret! You expect me to defend Gypsies when I am supposedly of foreign, noble blood?"

"I did not say you'd defend them directly, now did I? Just defend these _Elysians_ of yours, but describe them as relatives of the Gypsies! My parents would certainly believe it. As a wise man once said, the closer one gets to the truth, the harder it becomes for another to trace the secret."

But I was beginning to despair; I didn't want to listen to his reasoning. No one in their healthy state of mind could truly expect this from me: a lying, sixteen-year-old Gypsy maiden who was merely a good actress. My anger left only room for desperation, now. If I were found out, I'd be beheaded.

"Oh, Clement. These are your parents; these are the monarchs of our country! You cannot expect them to be so stupid! Do you not realize I may lose my life for this?"

He lifted his head, and stared me square in the eye. The blue of his cobalt eyes seemed electric. "That is what I wish to prevent, Rozenta. With this story, they would not bother to be suspicious. I know them. But without any story at all..."

The pressure, the tension, the anger, the sickness... I wanted to cry, but I wanted to be strong. My desire to prove my fortitude only made my heart ache harder.

"But, Clement... I will die. I'll never see my camp again!"

And there it was: the true essence of my pain. I lost a childhood, and those dear to me, and a past full of wonderful memories. And I didn't think I'd ever find my camp again; although it seemed so simple and easy to hope that they'd still be in the Arvette Forest, I was gone for a long time, longer than any span of time they ever spent in one place. They could be on the other side of the country, for all I knew! My mother, and father, and friends, and relatives... I might never see them again. I would be stuck reading philosophy texts for the rest of my life in this damned castle, courtesy of a selfish prince whose head was too big to harbor a crown.

My eyes began to water, and I bit my lip. The unshed tears began to make my eyes sore, and my head was beginning to hurt, but I would not let them fall. I had to be strong. I just had to. I couldn't fall apart now.

"Rozenta? Rozenta? Rozenta!"

I did not reply. That was not my name. It never was. It wasn't even a nickname; it was a _lie_. That was what I was living now. A _lie_. And I had gone too far into the _lie_ to keep the chance to save myself. If I tried to run away, I'd surely get caught and I'd be hung, as the guards would recognize me as that thief and they'd most likely notify the King and Queen. If I ran away and escaped, I'd wander around the Arvette Forest, never finding my camp, or even the remains of it; I'd have nowhere to go. If I exposed my true identity and attempted to beg mercy... that was the disastrous choice. I'd be beheaded. There was nothing I could do.

_Stay strong... must stay strong... cannot lose just yet... must prove myself to him..._

I felt his hands on my shoulders, pressing them gently, trying to awaken me from my frantic stupor. The tears were still threatening to fall, but I knew they wouldn't. The pain was now numb. This was not the 'strong' I was hoping to achieve, but either way it was some form of strength. That was what I wanted: strength. Any form of it, so long as it was strength.

"Are you all right? Do you hear me? Would you like me to send for the healers? Rozenta?"

His voice was becoming more distant with every passing second; I was still wrapped up in my thoughts. Indeed, I had no other place to go, nothing else to do. Except... Clement had actually given me another choice, another way to find the ending I'd been hoping for. If I played off the task well enough, he may find no other reason with which to bind me to his accursed place, and I could be home with my family. Yes... I might just consider the option. I mean, it would be a hard task, speaking on the behalves of those that didn't really mingle with politics, but if I played my part right, I may get away with my head still on my shoulders and my neck intact. It would keep me in the good graces of the people that really mattered, and it would give me license to stay and license to leave. I could leave without having to resort to running away, and that would raise no suspicions and would raise no guards. Maybe... just maybe...

I was seeing things clearly for the first time. Although Clement presented the idea with reasons that I knew not, I would make the best of my stay here, and be given good right to leave. I may not find them, but at least I could search for them without having to look too often over my shoulder, and if I did find them...

I knew what to do. I knew what choice to make.

Clement's hands were still pressed into my shoulder, and he was shaking me gently. He was frighteningly near me; the distance was not even a whole foot. I looked up and stared into his eyes, reading him. His brow furrowed, and he looked puzzled.

"Rozenta?"

What I whispered was scarcely for him to hear, but was rather meant for me to contemplate upon.

"I know what to do. I know the right choice."

"Oh, you do, do you? Does it include me sending the healers and witchwoman here, or not? Are you feeling better? You still look possessed."

This time, what I said next was meant for his ears.

"I shall do it."

This took him completely by surprise. Apparently, it was not what he expected. He had, after all, seen so much defiance performed by me, and this was a quick change of mind. If only he knew how much thought took place before the decision was made...

"You... shall?" His voice was disbelieving, and honestly, I couldn't blame him.

"Yes."

His eyebrows were slowly climbing up his forehead, now. "Well... as long as I didn't force you into the decision. I didn't, did I?"

I was beginning to feel like myself again, rather than the chanting oracle I had become for a moment. The space between us (or lack thereof, rather) was beginning to get to me - my heart began racing immediately. I could practically hear my pulse rushing, and I knew the blood was rushing to my face. My flesh was burning.

"I am feeling better. You may let go of me now."

Clement ignored this; and he did not remove his hands. "Are you certain of your decision? You know how to do this, don't you?"

I chuckled a bit, but softly. I didn't need to be loud when he was barely half a foot away from me. "Barely. But I'll improvise. It's what I've been doing up to now, and I've done reasonably well."

He grinned, not moving his face an inch farther away from mine. "Exceptionally well. You are sure?"

"Yes... it's the only true choice I've got left, isn't it?"

We fell silent for a moment, and all the while, I couldn't really tear my gaze from his. No words passed between us, but feelings did, and thoughts, and desires, and insecurities. There was so much to say, but no strength to say any of it. I don't know if I imagined it or not, but he was starting to move a little closer.

This frightened me, and I moved back - just a little - but found myself rooted in my seat. He was staring into my eyes again, and his eyes looked glazed over. I smiled, and hid a sad laugh, and feeling very self-conscious, I knew that my own eyes were red and watery, and that my nose was a bit pink, and that my face still looked a bit closed. He still continued to stare.

My smile fell, and I stared back.

I knew his face was close now, very very close, and that he was steadily moving closer. I wanted to cry out, to wake him from his own stupor, but I had no voice, and I was feeling too dazed and exhilirated to stop him. I only knew one thing: I was frightened right out of my skin.

His lips only started to brush by mine before I jumped back, electrified, and nearly stumbling off of my chair. Embarassed and shameful and wanting to leave before he registered what was going on, I stood up and stepped back, staring at him all the while. He was staring at me as though I were outright mad.

"I... must go! Prepare! For the feast! I will... speak to you later, your Highness!" Positively squeaking, I turned and hurried on my way out of the dining hall. My wits were gone, and my determination was reduced to absolutely nothing, and I felt as though I couldn't walk right. So many feelings in such a short, span of time... not even the strongest woman could take it without feeling discomfort.

I only looked back when I reached the door, and what I saw scared me, made me want to run back to him and beg forgiveness: he was sitting with his legs apart, his elbows propped up on his knees, and his head buried in his hands. I looked around hastily and found we were actually alone; the servants must've left when they realized that the prince and I were having an argument. I was glad of it; I couldn't stand the shame.

I don't know why I ran off, but I did, and there was no use going back and starting everything all over again. I already messed it up, and I didn't wish to ruin it further.

I pulled the doors opened, slipped through them, and once they were shut again, I laughed my way to the quarters. The laughter was tragic and heartfelt, joyous and miserable, and insane. I didn't know what to think.

o...o...o...o...o

I dozed off in my chamber for a few hours, or perhaps more than a few. Dreams of his face so close to mine haunted me, and followed me, and when I awoke I was more than relieved. As I slept - still in that green-gold gown - on my bed, someone had been rapping frenetically on my chamber door. Peeved, I jumped up, pulled it open, and saw a harassed-looking Elaine staring at me as though I were a madwoman.

"They are here, and you missed their arrival, you fool! The feast will start soon, and - you've been sleeping, haven't you? Why, you've completely mussed your dress - and it had been so beautiful. Go on, let me in, I've got to fix you up now."

My jaw dropped, and my eyes went as wide as tea saucers, but she ushered me to the vanity anyway. Starting off with my rebellious hair, she grinned into the mirror, and it even crinkled her wide eyes a bit. That was unexpected.

"Oh, and the next time you and the prince choose to share an intimate moment, do not select the dining hall. Only a downright fool would do such a thing."

I wanted to scream; I had been so sure no one had been lurking about. But I was half-crazed at the time - I was surely wrong.

I marveled at Elaine's gift at finding out _everything_. The little ... chat Clement and I shared was obviously known to Elaine only, since it would've been high-quality gossip wildfiring the palace if anyone else knew, but still, I was astounded.

"How much did you hear?" I managed to get out, and thankfully, my voice was too breathy to quiver. She shrugged, tugged on my hair, and smirked.

"Enough. Now stop slouching; I cannot fix your hair neatly enough with you slopping yourself over the vanity-top."

She laughed, and although still astounded she knew, I laughed too. To speak truthfully, I would've died if I had to keep that secret all to myself. Elaine was my friend, and it was a relief that she knew. There was nothing harder than keeping the undeniable truth from your dearest companions.

**Afterthoughts:**

Haha, thought I wouldn't manage to make it up to you, eh? Well, I did! Hey, the kiss had to happen sometime, and although this chapter was, to me, badly written, I managed to fit everything that had to be included. Difficult, but I managed. This is, personally, my favorite chapter so far, and although she seems to have unreasonable mood changes (i.e. - going from indignant, to despairing, to lovesick...), I managed to blend it all well. She is just feeling so many emotions, and she can't seem to contain them in the right way. I don't blame her; I honestly don't. But anyway, I don't want to keep this fic neglected any longer, and I aim to write unpredictably and to keep my readers satisfied, and to turn this story from a classical, stuffy novel to a fantastical, exciting, and impulsive tale. If you do not like the change, then just say so, but take my word for it: you would find the latter a much better choice.

P.S. - The format may be screwed up, as I am using Wordpad instead of Microsoft Word. Sad, but true. Credit my dad and his crazy restoring phases.


	11. When the Bushes Rustle

**Forenote: **I am very aware that I promised this Chapter in a span of days, but it took a little longer that that -- I suppose I overestimated myself. Anyway, it's here now, and that's all that matters. 10 reviews for this chapter? Excellent. I thank you all as one, as gratitude for each of you individually is listed below:

**Responses: **I cannot view my reviews at the moment, since my Internet is down, so I cannot respond to any. For this I am terribly sorry, but don't you want to get straight to the story?

o...o...o...o...o

**Chapter 11: **When the Bushes Rustle

o...o...o...o...o

"You look absolutely splendid," Elaine marveled breathlessly, forgetting her annoyance and gazing at me with an adoring, sisterly air. Despite my flustered feelings, I blushed lightly, pleased, and took the liberty of turning around - gently, to be careful - and facing myself in the glass. And I blushed further; never before had I imagined myself to look like this. Elaine did not embellish her words at all.

Staring back at me in the mirror was a part of me that I never knew could ever exist. It was a human form of the gracious, noblewoman's behavior I had been practicing in the weeks of my stay here; perhaps it was even the human form of this 'Rozenta': so beautifully exotic, but formidable in her grace. The 'Eszti' part of me was not worthy to look as such.

My gown, which Elaine had so skillfully and carefully picked out, was white and gold silk, since she recently realized how white brought out the best of my appearance. My black hair and eyes were accentuated by the pure color, although they were otherwise untouched by makeup and any other facial substance - those were befouling on the natural beauty of a woman. The dress was long and radiant, light and sweeping, flowing in two petticoats - the inner thick, the outer thin, so it was reversed to other formal gowns. The sleeves were white and thick and strong up to the elbow, and from those seams the rest of the cloth fell, in weak, floaty white silk. My bodice was form-fitting and beaded with diamond lining, and I wore on my covered shoulders a lily attached to the gown with a rhinestone; the neckline was square and trimmed with new lace just shipped in from Whitewhey, the manufacturing center of Merilian. Elaine thought it a shame not to flaunt my - by her words - "enticing" curves, so she found a white satin sash to tie stylishly around my waist.

As for my hair, Elaine had softened and styled it with a thin, shining cream that smelled of sunnut, and the ends were curled loosely, in an innocent sort of look. It fell loosely down my shoulders, with a white lily settled by my ear, and Elaine put in a metal clasp painted white to hold the flower in place. She then placed a silver-white chain around my neck, and smiled softly in admiration.

I, personally, was too shell-shocked to speak. Never before had I really - to myself, at least - looked so... fragile. I dressed usually in the bright, wool clothing my father would bring home, bought with probably a silver coin, or a few coppers... and they made me look as I had always seen myself - vibrant, and energetic, and generally independent. But now... I looked as though I was born to please the eyes of others. I only stared at Elaine, my eyes shining with an unnamed emotion (probably a record high level of gratitude).

"You look like a ... fresh new lily, found by the riverbank, plucked an hour past its dewing time. It's rather amazing, really, but you look natural like it. Honestly. Now, come. I've permission to be escorting you. The Prince is waiting." The last she added with an uncharacteristically impish smile, her eyes actually crinkling a little. It was a pleasant thing, to see her express emotion, and I suppose she would've laughed had she not the calm composure of an ice cube.

Together, we made our way into the palace - which was decorated in red and gold to celebrate the return of the monarchs - and into the grand hallways, speaking softly. I had unconsciously expressed a sort of care in the things I did, unknowingly trying to prevent any show of my true... untamed nature. It was my apparel, obviously, but oddly, I liked the feeling of this Rozenta presence. It assured me that there could be some confident lady in me, somewhere.

Before we touched the golden handle of the dining hall doors, a herald's hand pulled it first, smiling charmingly at us. I passed a sideway glance at Elaine, whose lips showed a bit of amusement. I looked again at the young, freckle-faced herald, who nodded respectfully towards the both of us.

"Milady... Escort Elaine... might I inquire what noble beauties pass here?" he said in a youthful voice, lilted with a smooth... Kionean accent. Of course; no matter what class, they were always the first ones to show signs of good, polished breeding and sophisticated refinement. It was impressive.

"The lady Rozenta, a noble guest from the foreign land of Elysia, come to attend the welcoming feast of Their Highnesses. I am her escort for tonight." Elaine recited my title with a subtle, fleeting sideways glance at me, her lip twitching as she spoke. I know what ran through her mind. As I befriended her and Eder, I felt inclined to tell them of my true identity, and so I did. And when she heard of my cover-up country, she couldn't help but find it absolutely absurd.

"Ah, the foreign Lady. We've heard much about you, Lady Rozenta. I pray you find our halls of satisfaction to you. And now, to give you a welcome." He grinned boyishly, and pulled the doors with a graceful style.

The doors were now open, and the herald stepped forward. He blew his small, golden horn once - softly, as to not seem rude - and raised his hand, looking gravely around the room. The soft, orchestral music came to a quick end, shortened by my entrance, and guests turned to watch the herald with intent. I could feel their eyes shift from me, to Elaine, and to the herald, in various orders.

"I present to you... her Ladyship Rozenta, from the distant, foreign land of Elysia, noblewoman guest of the Royal Family." He bowed swiftly, stepped back, and pulled the great doors shut, but not after a final wink in Elaine's direction. She expressed no emotion to this, except an eyebrow raised in the slightest.

I looked to the great clutter of guests with wide eyes, feeling my flesh warm. I was about to bite my lip instinctively, but then realized what sort of noblewoman would do that.

_One from Elysia, apparently..._ I thought wryly, hating myself once again. The guests were now whispering; I had no doubt that many didn't know of any country named Elysia, but there were many new countries being discovered nowadays. Explorers were abundant in supply.

Elaine stepped down first, her expression utterly complacent. I decided to match her as I followed, to give myself an imperious air that could perhaps convince the majority of the crowd that I was truly a noblewoman, but I was still nervous. The heat was getting unbearable; and I was sure that I had gone partially deaf as well. All I could hear was the rushed, hard-hitting beating of my heart.

Elaine soon left me to my own devices a little after our entrance, explaining ruefully that she had other duties to attend to, as a servant of the Royal House. I was reluctant to let her go, but I knew better, and watched her glide away, my pulse running quicker all of a sudden. So here I stood... impersonating a noble from a country that surely did not exist... dressed in a beautiful dress that I certainly didn't have the right to wear... attending a ball held in the honor of those who could have me killed instantly if they discovered me... and... being stared at by a silenced Prince?

_No, no, by the gods, no...!_

The court squire was approaching me - most likely to request a dance - but I barely noticed. Clement was staring at me, his eyes wide, and unconsciously... I stared back.

Terrified, I gave myself a little shake, and I looked away - at the carpet, at the circling nobles, at the hanging tapestries... anything. He stepped a few paces toward me - separated by four or five guests, we were - and I couldn't take it. Flushing, I turned my head completely, walking away, leaving the squire befuddled.

And my temper flared.

_I could be wearing a corset for all the breathlessness I'm displaying! What am I doing, dressed like this, attending a party for the bloody King and Queen? And why am I behaving in such a manner that proves his POINT? By the gods, I'm practically lovesick!_

"Lady Rozenta! Soooo _good_ to see you! You look marvelous, darling... lily-themed? Have you danced?" A voice exploded, calling in my direction. Startled out of my mental temper tantrum, I twisted around to see a falsely cheery Marguerite bouncing her way toward me. I wanted to sick up. The way she insisted on pretending we were friends... I was sickened. I stared hard at her with an icy look, one that could make Elaine proud.

"Yes, lily-themed. Is it so apparent?" I asked coldly, smoothing my voice with "concerned" sarcasm. Marguerite, surprisingly, found it, but gave no notice. She merely continued on, not altering her behavior at all.

"It is, darling, and it compliments you! So have you danced?" The light in her eyes danced with an emotion I could surely recognize: pride, tinged with spite.

So... she wanted to make me jealous, now did she? Well, I played games too, and often did better than the challenger.

"Not at all, Marguerite. Our dear squire attempted to ask me, but I'm afraid I was a bit too... preoccupied, darling, by Prince Clement. Two noblemen are eyeing me, so I suppose I'd take a twirl or two." I smiled my most winning smile, which only attracted the gazes of those two alleged noblemen. Until that instant, they were made-up, but I suppose my smile made things different.

The simper was swiped immediately off Marguerite's face, and she turned an unflattering red, contrasting sharply with the floaty lavender of her gown. Thinning her lips, her blue eyes flashed.

"Oh. So modest of you to speak so, Rozenta, dear. Those are, however, common occurrences at a ball, if I may so."

I didn't change my expression at all. I suppose she was expecting uncontrolled fury or obvious hurt, as hers fell instantly.

"Of course. Of course. And we are not attending a _ball_, Marguerite. This is a _feast_. There is a difference, and as a lady, I expected you to know that. Very well. Next time, I shall not overestimate you." I didn't even bother to match her ill-willing false happiness; instead, I narrowed my eyes coldly and turned swiftly on my heel, my black tresses sweeping dramatically against my back.

I stalked away, but didn't even notice the lily slipping shakily out of my hair and onto the floor.

I was standing by a suit of armor, watching the dancing half of the feast progress with a cantankerously imperious expression, when I felt a soft tap on my shoulder. Startled, I jumped and turned, staring. It was Clement, looking roguishly handsome in a black and gold doublet.

His cobalt eyes were pleading, desperate... hurt. As I stared into them, a rush of feelings fluttered into my heart and out: rage, confusion, adoration, and... love. Never before had I felt so much for a single man, and it wouldn't be untrue if I ever said I never felt so much in my entire life. I was ashamed of myself, but at the same time I marveled at Clement's ability to make my heart pound and my blood hot.

My neck warmed, but I couldn't tear my gaze from him again. So I decided to speak. "Your Majesty... it is good to see you tonight. You are doing well, I trust?"

Inside, I rejoiced. My voice didn't quaver in the least.

Where love had been shining in his eyes, anger clouded them. "Rozenta, what has happened to you?"

_Pardon...!_

"Why, I would expect a man to tell me I looked radiant, or some nonsense of the like, but it seems you've decided to do something different," I replied coldly, my voice rising, my own temper surfacing at an alarming rate. Guests nearby were turning to look over at us, irritable at the disturbance of their own conversations.

We ignored them.

"Oh, stop that pish-posh, Rozenta!" He exclaimed, alarmingly enraged, startling me and a few other guests. Now staring was really starting to take effect. I glared at Clement, but was stunned into silence for a moment or two.

But I found my voice before too long.

"What pish-posh?" I asked in a soft voice, subdued with humble confusion.

And he hushed. His expression was thunder, but soon it cleared, all rage seeping away to make room for despair. His eyes were empty now; the love was definitely gone. Now only sadness remained. He took a step back, now taking his gaze from me, and tried to gather his composure. Turning, he smiled weakly towards the puzzled guests, trying to assure them that nothing was going on, but the look he gave me was a different kind of calm.

The noblemen and noblewomen nodded companionably and tuned out of our conversation instantly. Nobody - commanded by the prince, as they were - bothered to pay us any mind, anymore. But he looked at me again, and I couldn't be relieved.

It was like the sadness that couldn't be expressed with tears. It was a sort of pain that'd never go away.

"So this is what I waited for," he said to me, his voice as calm as a gray day on an ocean. "This is the future I ignored everything else for. Have you ever wondered," he took a step forward. Chills ran through me. "why I never let you go?"

Completely muted - for this was a question that had haunted me for ages - I could only nod.

"I had somewhere got it into my head - and what an idiot I proved to be - that we had some sort of future... that I had actually found the woman for me... that if I held on, despite her sadness, we'd be happy in the end. If I let you go, there'd be no chance for us to find the love that could be."

His eyes didn't change at all. It was unnerving.

"And I loved you then; not at first sight, really, but more of the first day. Or second. You were unlike any other maiden I had ever met... headstrong, intelligent, but overall good-natured... but I knew that if I did let you go as you asked so often, I could never get to know you as I did. It was hard for me to imprison you here as I did, but I figured that the potential future would've been worth it. But... you've changed."

Here, he looked around and made sure no one was eavesdropping. No one was, apparently, for he was satisfied with his search.

"Your persona remained the same, but your attitude toward me changed. You want to hate me now. I could be right in saying that there were feelings before, but you insist on pushing me away. On closing your heart to what I can offer. So do you now what I plan to do now?"

He didn't wait for a response. He looked slightly manic, speaking as he did now.

"I surrender. I will release you soon enough. You will never see me again, but perhaps you could see me during country festivities or parades, with my Queen by my side. She would most likely not be of my own choice, but I'd have her anyway. Love is traitorous."

The King and Queen were now watching us curiously, wondering why Clement spent so much time with me. Clement looked over at them once, but then settled his gaze back on my face. Normally, when he did this, I shivered but felt pleased all the while... but now, I wanted to cry.

"I give you permission to leave the palace and search for that camp of yours. You are no longer in captivity; you can be free. Isn't that what you've always wanted?"

My heart broke. My selfishness had cost me whatever Clement had tried to offer; my selfishness cost me his love.

"You know now, of course, that I love you. I shall never forget you, and I shall always love you, and I'll dream of the future we could've had together. But you, obviously, refuse to have me. So I let you go, Rozenta, so you can be happy again. You never were happy in this palace. Be happy, Rozenta. Don't let my love for you keep you from what's most important."

I had to speak up; I had to say something. I had to tell him that I loved him, that I had made an awful mistake, that he was what was most important, but the instant I opened my mouth, he put his hand under my chin and smiled. A sad smile. A broken heart's smile. A lost smile. A smile that shouldn't even be there.

"Here's your lily; it was on the floor." I looked at it in surprise as he showed it to me. Then, releasing my chin, he placed it gently - ever so gently - in my hair again, by the clasp.

"You were about the best dream I ever had, Rozenta. The best. It is a pity that I had to wake up as I did."

Taking a step back, he smiled once - but there was no true light in it - and walked away, his head down and his hand rubbing his forehead. I could recognize that as the poise most men took when they wanted to cry, but couldn't.

I put a hand to the lily in my hair, and closing and opening my eyes quickly, I hurriedly brushed some tears away. Then, as I stood by the suit of armor, trying to hold back tears and catch Clement's eye, the herald announced the start of dinner. I did not listen. As I stood, helpless, watching a weary-looking Clement take his seat by his mother and father, I realized that beyond everything I had done in the past, there was always the present to consider...

I could still do something, something that could have him forgive me. But for the time being... I had to at least save the weak relationship we had. It was dying.

"Clement!" I called out softly, hurrying forward and toward his seat, my arm outstretched in a pleading way. He didn't even look at me, but by the way he turned his head to the other side - away from me - I knew he heard me well enough. I raised my voice.

"Clement, I am sorry, I am blind, I..." The look he gave me silenced me. The King and Queen, both looking alarmed, stared at me sternly. The Queen was the first to speak.

"A foreign young lady," she said kindly but regally, her beautiful face softening. "How good to finally meet you, Lady Rozenta. I've heard so much. As a guest, I beg that you take the vacant seat between my son and Lady Marguerite. You have quite a reputation in the palace. They say your visit was certainly unexpected." She smiled like a true queen, and graciously gestured with my hand for me to seat.

I nodded slightly, uttered, "Thank you, your Majesty", and took my place. Marguerite, peeved that I got the chance to sit by Clement when she didn't, eyed me from the side; a plastic smile was pasted onto her face, but her eyes were ablaze.

A horn played, the herald announced a short charismatic speech to welcome the Royal Monarchs, and dinner began. Dishes were served, maids and servants bustled about, and guests ate happily, talking amongst themselves in politely low voices.

Queen Egeria, gazing at me curiously with _those cobalt eyes_ - they were mirror duplicates of the ones that entranced me so often on Clement's own face - smiled slightly as she spooned some meal onto her golden dish, but I could see her cogs working. The ways her eyes kept darting from Clement to me then to Marguerite - they narrowed slightly on her, mind you - made it too apparent that she was obviously devising something.

But she started out of her reverie when King Ignatius spoke, a robust burst of deep sound.

"Lady Rozenta... you are a guest of Prince Clement's, I hear? Have you two acquainted yourselves?"

I looked up from my plate, horrified. What terrible ideas had Marguerite fed the man? Knowing that he was particularly fond of Marguerite... oh, he didn't like me at all. The frightening way he spoke to me proved that in volumes.

"We have, Your Majesty. I am indeed a guest of his," I said, trying my best to impersonate a noblewoman's stature. It was my effort - and only that - that caused him to finally look at me, and it was with an oddly... tender look. Clouded, angry, hurt... but unknowingly tender.

Marguerite slapped her fork down onto her plate with a loud clang, startling the Queen into anger. Both expressions worn by the women were enraged: Marguerite at me, and Queen Egeria at Marguerite. Needless to say, I was feeling very awkward, and nervous... oh so nervous... if I were _caught_...

"I've also heard from my son that your people - Elysians - are very unique..." King Ignatius continued, as though the women surrounding him were not facing emotional stress levels of any kind. "Somewhat like Gypsies themselves. Do you represent them, milady?"

I held back the angry yelp that had developed in the back of my throat. And for the first time during the evening, I caught Clement's lip twitch, if only for a moment. The scoundrel wanted to _smirk_. He was still pale, of course... still hurt, and still angry, but color returned little by little to his cheeks, and I knew he was slowly getting over his pain. And at the same time, trying to get over me.

"Yes, milord. The people, and the Gypsies both, I suppose, if they are so similar. Your Highness," I added quickly, trying to look humble and respectful, suppressing the strong emotions inside me. I wanted nothing more than to splash the contents of my goblet - mild, imported wine - onto sneering Marguerite's dress, to mock the solemn way His Majesty-my-foot-I've-enough-of-this glared, to give the Queen an incredulous yet grateful look, and to pull Clement outdoors and beg his forgiveness, then perhaps kiss the life out of him.

A light blush came onto my cheeks as I thought the last. I tried my best not to steal a look at Clement.

Now, of course, I was fully aware that I was in love with the arrogant but endearing prince, and although it would've taken a girl as stubborn as me years to accept it, I didn't have that sort of time. It was either I learn to accept it now and have the chance to win him back, or wait those useless years to get over myself and find out later on that Queen Marguerite is expecting their sixth child, or some nonsense of the sort.

My thoughts were getting a bit insane, but then again, I could barely hold onto my wits in a situation like this. I had to crack sometime.

Unbidden silence fell between everyone seated at our corner of the table. It seemed, surprisingly enough, that every one of us was buried in our own thoughts. Queen Egeria, I knew, was undoubtedly scheming, Marguerite was painting images of my violently gruesome death in her mind, King Ignatius was still gazing at me with his narrowed eyes, perhaps measuring my chances with Clement and whether or not he had to be worried for Marguerite's sake, and Clement...

I would've called Marguerite a wench in both the faces of the King and Queen if it would allow me a peek at Clement's own thoughts. But I had a vague idea, judging by the way his eyes kept stealing furtive glances at me.

All of our eyes snapped upwards promptly when King Ignatius cleared his throat in a decidedly loud manner. He gazed at me with that calculatingly alert stare for a second more, and then turned to Clement, his manner lightening a touch.

"Clement, we haven't discussed your impending betrothal plans for a while, even before the trip the Queen and I took to Kione. The matter is of urgent importance, my son, and we cannot bury it forever. Have you any decision?"

At this, my gaze sharpened, and I was able to stare at Clement with a severe look without being abashed. The attentions of Queen Egeria and Marguerite were piqued as well, although Queen Egeria was irritably glaring at her husband.

Taken aback, Clement looked his father in the eye, and gave a genuine answer. "I haven't given the matter a thought, my lord, for which I apologize, of course." His eyes darted toward me again, and I knew as certain as the lily in my hair that I turned red.

This did not go unnoticed.

"Well, Clement, we are discussing the matter now, aren't we?" New suspicion coated the King's tone.

"Yes, father. It seems so."

"I cannot argue with you in front of a guest, Clement. Do you yield? Lord Giovan cannot await a response forever. And neither can the lovely Lady Marguerite."

Queen Egeria's expression was stony, but I knew by the spark of sniping amusement behind her eyes that had she not been royalty, she would've snorted.

Clement raised his eyes, matching his father's gaze. "Must we really pursue the matter before a guest, father? At a dinner, to further the trouble?"

"It matters not, son. Answer the query."

Clement stiffened. I had never seen a King speak to his son this way, but I suppose this was a topic on which neither could come to rights.

"I have not made a final decision, sire, but I lean towards the answer I gave before."

Triumph and pride unraveled itself on the Queen's striking face, and she gave Marguerite a boastful look and a raised chin. The spoiled creature looked as though she wanted to cry.

King Ignatius remained unperturbed.

"What would you do if I gave you no choice, then?"

The color drained from Clement's face, but he flushed a second later, his face raw with ill-contained anger. His eyes flicked toward me again, but this time he was so discreet that it went unnoted.

"That is not the case, is it?"

"It could be."

At this, the Prince could hold himself no longer. He stood abruptly, not even bothering to excuse himself, glared at his father once more, and stalked off out of the dining hall, not even bothering to walk with his customary swagger. Guests twittered at the unexpected occurrence, but they barely mattered. To me, they no longer existed.

I looked at my fellow attendants at corner of the table. Now that Clement was missing from our number, I was no longer necessary here, and I knew I'd be more uncomfortable than before. If I were lucky, I might be able to leave the feast without sparking any suspicions.

"Your Highnesses?" My voice brought their attention back onto the table. "Might I be excused? I am suffering a little in the head; I believe I have not yet adapted to the food of this country, your Graces."

Marguerite threw me an incredulous glower, but Queen Egeria granted me leave with an indulgent smile. "Why, of course, Lady. I know it would be indeed difficult for you to adjust so quickly. You do not eat meat often then?"

I shook my head lightly and minded my grace as I stood. "No, my Queen. The dishes in my homeland are usually based on vegetables."

"Ah, I see. You may leave, then, Lady. I pray that you have found Merilian satisfactory."

"I have, very much so. I thank you, your Majesty."

And I hurried away from the dining hall, holding a hand to my stomach in pretend-illness. I knew Marguerite was not fooled.

o...o...o...o...o

I didn't know what sort of force drove me, but something did, out of the dining hall, through the grand, echoing Merilian palace, onto the courtyard, and into the brisk, autumn night. The air was crisp, the winds light and chilly, and suddenly I wished for the cloak that was given me by Clement. It was presently lain in some corner of my wardrobe – for all I knew – or perhaps thrown neatly over my bed covers. According to Elaine, my white and gold dress was too splendid to be disgraced by any cloak or anything of the like, and after all, I wouldn't spend too much time outside.

But of course, Elaine hadn't anticipated this.

I wrapped my arms around myself, rubbing vigorously for warmth. Oh, how I wished for home… and then again, I knew deep in my heart that I couldn't return. Not now, not when things came to such disheartening scenarios. Before I arrived, things ran smoothly and there were no troubles for any of the castle occupants. But ever since I'd been imprisoned…

_So, _thought I, feeling as bitter as I ever had in my life. _So. I ruined their lives, didn't I? If I had never come, they'd be just fine. They'd be living their grand lives, in their grand palace, doing grand deeds… not perfectly, of course, but better than how they'd perform with my presence._

I tried to distract myself. I berated myself as terribly as I had ever berated anything or anyone in my entire life, being as brutal and savage in my thoughts as I had ever been. But one thought - pushed into the vacant, shadowed corner of my mind – had surfaced itself, weaved its way through the things I told myself to hide the stone, cold truth.

_I broke his heart._

With that thought came my first tears of the night.

And so I wept - silently, but undoubtedly weeping. The tears began mute, rolling down my cheeks, struggling to break free of the hold I had on myself. It was difficult, but eventually I gave in. The tears came free, and swift, and in steady flow. My Nen and Da had always soothed me by saying things like, "There is no shame in falling apart" or "There is always the future to look at, even if the present may prove to be a fool's game", but they were not here now, and there was no one I could come to. Only the dark truth spoke to me, now, and it was impossible for me to ignore it.

The best thing that had ever happened to me… I destroyed all the chances. I denied what could've been, what my heart had been yearning for, what another heart had been yearning for. If anything, Clement should've been weeping, but he would weep for me no longer. He'd want nothing to do with me.

I cannot blame him, for only a fool could think otherwise.

No matter how broken my heart was, I was not a thorough weeper; I did not cry all of my pain away. My tears soon came to dissolve as I stood in the midnight silence, nursing my ruined respect for myself. Gradually, I was drawn into silence. No more sobs came like torn cries through my lips, no more gasps resulted from my heart's inconsistent beating. No more.

_I've cried long enough._

Now… there was nothing left for me here, was there? Only a now-impossible way of life, and terrible memories. I knew I couldn't stay long. I'd drive Clement crazy with my ever-constant presence around the castle, and I too would go mad, and we'd all be miserable, and Eder and Elaine would tire of the haggard wench I've become, and Bedivere would find a more worthy maiden to woo.

My heart skipped a beat. _Bedivere_. But no… he didn't need me. I could never return what I supposed he felt for me, even if I pretended and tried, and he isn't stupid. Perhaps he'd pair off with Elaine, or another maid, or Marguerite, for all it mattered. So long as it wasn't me. He gave me no reason to stay.

I began to gaze wonderingly at the palace, where I could hear the orchestra playing, and a dance starting up again. Dinner was most obviously over, and guests began to circle the room once again, this time in clumps of three. Was this a foreign dance?

_A foreign dance held in my honor?_ I snorted skeptically, about to let out a hoarse laugh when I heard a noise. A peculiar noise. Wary, I turned around, and… there, I heard it again. Now it was louder, and an unmistakable sound.

Bushes were rustling.

My worry ceded. It was probably a rabbit, or a cat, or perhaps a bird. Maybe something more interesting, if I had any luck left. Indifferent, I turned my attention back to the palace building.

_Odd…_ I thought, finally observing this for the first time. _There are no guards. _My brow furrowed in thought, and my heart began to race.

The bushes began rustling again, and irritable, I whisked around, making to kick the shrub. And what a surprise it was when a hand – protruding from somewhere within the bushes - grabbed the slim ankle of my silk-slippered foot, and proceeded to push me backwards with masculine force. Shock brought chills through my body, and absolute terror made me gasp somewhere inside. I opened my mouth to shriek, until I felt a hand close on that too, and my heart pounded. There was a man behind me, I was sure, from the threatening warmth you feel when another is within your personal space, and then he had put a hand shamelessly to my hip, making me tremble all over in anger and panic. _By the gods…! _I couldn't be heard, but I screamed anyway.

"Hush, woman! Else we'll slit your throat… Royleo, cease her kicking!"

I twisted my shrieks into muffled words, kicking and punching and squirming harder all the while. _You filthy bastards, let go of me! _I tried to say, to the wicked laughter of the men. And I couldn't even see them.

"Gah, she won't hush. Hit her with a pan!"

"She's too _lovely _and _noble_ for that, haha!" one crook cackled.

_A pan…?_

And that was my last thought before I felt a dull, stinging pang to the softer part of my head, a limp feeling, and a consuming blackness - a blackness that ate me alive.

o…o…o…o…o

**Afterthoughts: **The excitement part is a bit bland, and I apologize humbly for that, but I cannot concentrate for some reason. I can never really focus. I am also aware that I promised this chapter within the span of a few days after the uploading of the previous, but I've been distracted. Again. I try, I try, but I have other interests too, as well as issues with my darling computer. Even now my Internet works not, and I cannot upload anything at this very moment, so I'll wait until my dad fixes it.


	12. The Price of Freedom

**Forenote: **Miracles can happen, plots can progress, and I can keep my forenotes short, useless though they may remain. Just thought I'd remind the readers with grudges.

**Responses:**

**Fairytale lover **– Actually, the day you reviewed was the day I finished that "next chapter", which is technically "this chapter" now. :grin: Here it is; enjoy.

**Discompobilated** – Lol, of course, I'd give you good people a cliffhanger. What else can you expect of me?

**Mellem** – Ah, and that is only the least of it. There are plenty more characters to introduce, and more intrigues to unravel.

**Phillippa of the Phoenix** – Her dress is actually one I wish I could have. :sigh: Well, if I cannot have it, at least a character of mine can. And of course Clement will try to rescue her… but if his attempt should be of success or not, I cannot tell. Well, at least not now. :broad grin:

**Fireworksinmybackpocket** – Lol, I'm glad you find it so. Don't worry; my life has become quite monotonous, so I'm writing a lot these days.

**Elvislivesagain** – Ah, the desired effect. Lol. And it's good that you like him, as I do too – immensely, which worries me indeed – but you must understand he is not perfect. That is explained under TrudiRose's response.

**Kat Laleh** – Arrivederci! Lol. Just thought I'd play a bit in your game with words there.

**Poisonmoon** – I do not regret this cliffhanger, sorry to say. ;-) The thing was already 18 pages long.

**TrudiRose** – You truly have something against him, don't you? Lol, there is nothing wrong with that, but you'll see that even though the selfish, prattish way Clement is acting seems egocentric, one would see – in a clearer perspective – that his reaction is ideal for his personality. Not that he's egotistical or anything similar – he is truly a good man, a great man – but as a prince, he can get carried away sometimes when he knows something is right. He is only used to having ideas and plans – and they usually work – and he knows this one can work for certain (having a future with Eszti, that is) for he knows she loves him… it is her stupidity that enrages him, and her chosen stage of denial, and the idea that she doesn't love him enough to get over herself and give him a change causes him pain. It is an ideal reaction, such as in '_Lessons in Love, History, Potions, or Otherwise_' which can be found in my favorites. I did not copy the reaction, to those who might think I did, as I was already deep in the story (chapter 7, I think) when I found the fic.

* * *

**Chapter 12:** The Price of Freedom

* * *

All was dark, pure black, a great gaping space of nothing. Pure oblivion. For a moment, I chose to linger awhile in the refreshing emptiness, without worry and woe, without possibility of death, or anything else equally or a mite less horrible. I enjoyed every second of it, and was about to get pulled back into the grips of yet another strong doze when the sound of voices reached me, grabbing hold of my mind by the metaphorical ankle and bringing it to reality with a painful tug.

"… don't you get worried, Royleo, about the consequences? We'd all be hung from the fat of our necks."

"Ah, boy, you are a dense one, yes? Haven't you got it into your thick head that the _'Lady'_ could suffer too? She's a fraud, that one is. Like all women. A dirty liar. If need be, we can tell His Majesty the Pig that we captured her to turn her in, like good citizens. Rewarded we'd be, but that's not our mission, now is it?"

Indignant, I lay on the harsh animal skin and continued to feign sleep to the thoughtless eye. I sharpened my hearing and concentration, and inched a little bit closer to the voices.

"But did you see that little servant girl, watching us drag the brat away? She saw us, and scampered. Why didn't we take care of her, eh?"

My heart stopped, and started again, pounding as if I had run a mile.

"Because, you dolt, we would've been caught for sure. She'd scream, and be heard, unlike the princess in the back. And she was far enough to scream before getting attacked."

"Still, Royleo – "

"Stop arguing, Hinhma. We won't be caught, so stop pretending we've got the Merilian army on our backs!"

The man with the younger voice hushed, but I could swear he did so unhappily, doggedly. I lay on the skin, my heart thumping wildly, and ran over their short conversation in my mind.

_She's a fraud, that one is._

My heart jumped into my throat, and I broke into a cold sweat. _By the gods and everything heavenly… they knew._

And they knew how to use it against me, too. A lovely adventure this was turning out to be.

For the first time since I awoke, I relaxed enough to collect my wits, pace my wild heartbeat, and study my surroundings, which were peculiar indeed. From what I could see, I was in a wagon – no walls; only a thick blanket of rope-textiles spun and spread over five metal arches that closed around the wooden floor, serving as a covering. It seemed that while I had been unconscious – for now all the memories of what had happened to me last had returned, and all of them vivid and rage-inducing – I had been thrown into a grubby, dust-coated corner of the wagon and indulged with only a prickly animal skin. Turning my head in the direction of the now-silent voices, I saw that a great flap of brown wool separated me from the drivers, and I could not see them through the fabric, as it was night.

We were being pulled – unevenly and gracelessly, I thought with contempt – by a single horse, and over generally smooth ground, indicating the presence of a real, dirt road. Absently, I snorted at the lack of ropes binding me – which more intelligent kidnappers would've no doubt thought of – and wondered if I could escape this dreaded wagon, if I were discreet enough. Crawling towards the flap that led outside, I pulled it open, but was immediately lost in a flooding of darkness, with only the wan light of the crescent moon lighting a shadowy sliver of the road. I struggled to see the Merilian palace in the distance, any tower point, any darkened flag - but it was no use, and anguished, I retreated into the wagon.

It was lighter in here, at least. A lantern stood burning in another corner of the wagon. To reassure myself, I edged the thing away from the cloth covering of the wagon, which could possibly catch flame. It would be a good opportunity to escape if our coach had caught fire, but I had no rations with me, and no possible way of finding the palace. Especially at this time of night. There was no hope.

At the thought of rations, my stomach grumbled horrendously, certainly shameful for a would-be noblewoman. And the thought of hunger made me aware of how chilly I now felt and how dirty I had become – dragged, had I been? It was no wonder. I grimaced at the thought. Maybe if I had been more careful, I wouldn't have been captured… if only I stayed in the dining hall like an obedient Lady. And look at me now: in a wagon most likely leading out of Merilian, held captive by a bunch of stupid bandits for some unknown purpose, threatened by them with exposure of my true identity to the Royal Family, which would be horrifying indeed, and hungry and cold, of all things. Sadly, I looked down and found myself still in my best dress, and I sighed in frustration. What a shame it was that ts just had to be wasted on a disastrous evening and an even worse night.

The flap to the driver's front was pushed aside and revealed one of the bandits – a young man – popping his head in. At the sight of him, I couldn't help but put on my best glare, one that made the majority of living things cower. And to my greatest chagrin, he could only smile maliciously – perhaps he was aiming for 'dazzling', but I could barely call it that. Had he been any other human being, it might've been so.

But… as I looked at him for a few moments, I began to notice something: his features resembled mine, in a general way. He had tan, brown skin – darker than mine, but that hardly mattered – and pitch-colored eyes the shape of almonds. His hair was curly but black and fine, and his cheekbones were exotic – much like mine. I began to panic.

_What if… ?_

My eyes wide and my angry expression fading a little, I breathed, "Who are you?" in an enraged manner, my tone dripping with repulsed scorn.

After being around so many fair-colored people for so long, I couldn't help but feel a bit hysterical at seeing one of darker complexion. But you couldn't blame me; it certainly meant something.

And the mere _nerve _of him – he chuckled! Laughed at my sufferance. His eyes dancing, he brought out his whole body from behind the flap, and sat on the corner with hay, leaning comfortably against the shelter opposite me. In a puzzling act, he tilted his chin up a little, and then brought his head down to look at me levelly. To this, I responded not – only stared at him in ire, rubbing my shoulders for warmth.

"It is too bad," I choked out, trying to release my frustration in one glare, directed at this bandit. "that I have to be kidnapped by _bandits_. If I had been kidnapped by those of a higher rank, I could perhaps be in a less impoverished setting than this. But what can I expect," I added dramatically, tossing my hair and lifting my chin. "from those who can only live off what they steal?"

"As if you and your kind are any better!" he barked, stiffening a little. I suppose my insult had hurt more than I expected it to, and I couldn't help but feel pleased, if a little ruthless.

But after a moment, I too tensed. _So. _Just as they knew of my pretending, they knew my truer identity as well. _So._

Putting on my most regal look, I stared him in the eye, summoned up the most level yet angered look I could. I thought of Marguerite, King Ignatius, and perhaps Clement, and my gaze grew more genuine. It made his smirk lessen a little – just a twitch.

"You never answered my question. Who are you?" I asked harshly.

"And what reason have I to answer that? You can no sooner condemn me to death than can the fur on which you lie."

"To protect your honor, perhaps? You know of my identity, more than I'd like you to. It'd only be fair that I know the same for you. Or maybe less."

He furrowed his brow delicately to consider that for a moment, and smiled a renewed grin of amusement.

"My name is Gehedrion. I suppose I can reveal that much."

"You certainly can. I can do nothing with only that."

He twisted his grin into a smirk, racking his shoulders a little forward as a result of laughter. "No, you cannot."

I chewed on my lip a little, wondering what brilliant move I should make next to further this man's opinion of me as an idiot, but then decided on a question that peeved me to no end. Looking up again, I decided to grant him so little as a half-smile, a disdainful smirk. In my mind, I prayed to all the heavens that my voice would not quaver.

"I cannot help but wonder," I said smoothly and strongly, for my prayers were indeed answered. "how you all have come to know so much about me, when I had barely known of your existence. And I think I shall spare you my full life story; revealing any excess information not already in your possession may come to harm me in the ultimate end. I prefer to keep my secrets." My smirk began to feel genuine. I certainly felt like I should've been seated beside a slick-mouthed wit of a man, swilling red wine in a thin, glass goblet and negotiating smoothly.

"Keep your secrets? You do well, Rozenta, except that my friends and I have… ways."

My glowered returned, and at full heat once again. I no longer pretended to bear the velvety, complacent wrath of a noble, and instead truly felt it.

"You did not answer the question. Pray do not dodge."

He tapped his chin in false thought, and a sardonic smile spread across his lean, thin face, alight with his own secrecy. "To avoid pointing fingers and speaking names, I shall only say that I had chosen the right bed."

Had I been consuming red wine at the time, I would've spat it back out. I stared in outrage, and wondered what sick servant could've committed such a folly. Clement had been so vehement and clear in his instructions to all witnessing servants to keep my identity a secret. But an angry chill of hope fleeted through me anyway; at least I had some slim chance of catching the traitor, should she conceive.

Feeling slightly faint with my disgust, I coughed out, "That is quite a horrible thought indeed that you had to win a lady's heart to accomplish the task."

He surprised me with a derisive snort, his eyes gleaming evilly. "Win a lady's heart? Oh, no, that'd be far too much work. I didn't say 'heart' now, am I right? I said '_bed_'. Are you really so naïve? Although you have nice hips, very nice hips. Out of your captors in the night, Gypsy, I was the one that held your waist."

A wave of repugnance surged through me again, only more intensely this time. Following it came indignity and outrage.

"I confess I am, then. I really think I am."

Gehedrion only had time to smirk at me, clearly basking in the queasiness his story cost me, when the flap to the driver's front of the wagon was pulled open again, revealing a gnarled old man who looked a lot like a 60-year-old version of Gehedrion, although perhaps less good-looking. The hair about his temples were streaked mercilessly with white and lines traced around the ridges of his face like tributaries stringing out of a river drawn on a map, making him look very worn indeed. He had bleak, dark eyes through which he studied me quickly, and he pushed forth a basket of wicket, in which lay a pile of smaller loaves of bread. They were the less rich kind, brown and plain, but at the time, I cared not.

I could not refrain my hand from digging itself into the basket, pulling out the largest loaf I could find, and wolfing it down. Gehedrion watched with raised eyebrows and attempted to reach for a loaf himself, but the look the older man whipped him with made him jerk his hand back, looking very much like a displeased toddler who was denied a sweet treat.

After one loaf, I took up another and put a hand to my throat, very much desiring drink. The older man looked to Gehedrion and spoke sharply, as though there was nothing the boy could do to please him in the least.

"Have we water in the jar, boy? Have you checked recently?"

"I don't know, but we just set off. We can't be too low in supply."

"Mercy, lad, couldn't you have just said 'yes' or 'no', like any other with sense? Go to the front and check, and bring about a cup for the lady. After all her overall impressive trickery, she must be parched." He spoke of my imposter title without disdain or hatred, unlike Gehedrion and the man who had knocked me unconscious. For this I wish I could've summoned up respect for him, but my heart could feel nothing warm on this night. Or early morning, or whatever it was.

Frowning deeply, Gehedrion got up from his seat and slipped through the front flap, disappearing and speaking rapidly to the bandits at the driver's seating place.

As I waited for the drink to come, I glanced over at the old, a-little-more-than-middle-aged bandit and found him staring at me sternly.

Where Gehedrion had failed to intimidate, this bandit had succeeded, and soon I actually came to fear my predicament. I had been worried and furious before, but I never thought these seemingly stupid bandits could come to harm me. But the way this one spoke portrayed all the reasons his kind were feared.

"So then, imposter!" he barked commandingly, making me jump a little. "Have you any idea of the reason behind your glorious presence among us?"

Any desire for a muster of respect vanished instantly.

"If you place yourself in my shoes for a moment – "

"Oh, by any grace that can be mustered in this rotted world!" he exclaimed suddenly, his eyes wide with impatience. I was poked into annoyance. "What did I say that jolted you to call upon the godly?" I insisted, peeved. His severe expression returned like thunder.

"What did you say, you ask? Too much, I answer! You youths think it so grand to impress with words! Well, sorry to disappoint you all, but it is not! Not in the least! It's aggravating."

"To you, that is." I said a mite too sharply.

"To many others, I can prove, persistent wench," he snapped back.

My mouth fell open, and I could no longer think of water. "You filth! You knock me with a pan, kidnap me for no apparent reason at all, threaten me – no, BLACKMAIL me – and then have the _nerve_ to call me a _wench_! That is a most disturbing conclusion forged by logic, I must tell you now."

His expression of stone did not change, so in turn neither did mine. "To set the record straight, I was not among the men to 'knock you with a pan', as you so excitedly put it. For that crime, you should accuse Gehedrion, Hinhma, Royleo, and Jonsol. And is that what they did? Low, no doubt. I will see to that later. I admit to being a captor of yours, in looser terms, though, but you haven't been so pure either. As we learned from a useful pair of eyes and a full red mouth, you seem to have prolonged your noble stay by seducing the Prince with your inborn charms. By our standards, you are a hussy, an enchantress, a sorceress – just like your people."

I felt as though I had been stabbed in the side – caused a multitude of pain, but not allowed to die… in this case, recover from. Never before had a slander towards my people affected me in any way, but strangely enough this one did now, coming from a man who thought he was speaking without judgment and purely from sense. He also touched a nerve when he mentioned Clement – I hadn't unconsciously played with his heart, now did I? But that was a ridiculous thought, a pure piece of nonsense. I had lost my heart too in the process, so I hadn't played him false at all – the love he gave me was returned. I just didn't know it until the end, until it proved to be a tad late. My heart turned over underneath my breastbone, and that old burden fell momentarily over my wits again, but I locked my jaw and matched the old bandit's gaze, filled with nothing but undiluted ferocity.

"What you say is untrue; had never been true, will never be true. I will not lash back with an ill-developed generalization to match yours; I harbor more honor in my heart than that. I know that I have been of some worth to others, and definitely more so than all of your men, and yourself. You may object, but I don't care. No one knows me better than I do, and this I know true. No one can tell me otherwise."

We stared at one another for a long beat, not speaking nor moving at all. We might've blinked once or twice, but that was pure impulse, not intended nor borne from fear or terror. After a few seconds, Gehedrion came through that accursed flap, carrying a clay cup filled with water.

"Here is that damned water you wanted so badly, you insufferable – " but he trailed off at the expression on the old man's face.

"Yukael, you sent me to fetch water, and I have brought it. Does she want it or not?"

The man called Yukael nodded gruffly, but fixed me with that flinty gaze. It was to me he spoke. "You will need the drink, woman, when you hear of our plans for you."

Taking the cup without bothering to be graceful – which resulted in a little splash of liquid onto Gehedrion's arm – I sent both him and Yukael sharp glances. "So there is a reason behind all this then? You are not after the possible reward for turning me in, am I right?"

"Oh no, you are far too valuable to us than that. We have a task for you to do… that is, if you value your freedom. Or, the freedom you had before. Under us and our threat, you can do nothing unapproved. You have only to carry out our task, and then we will let you go and cover your absence with a suitable story. It's that simple."

Doubtful, I gulped down my water, and then licked my lips, hastily and with harried thought. What were they up to? What did they hope to accomplish by _using _me, exactly? As far as I knew, no one had any reason to take any interest in me. In the noble society, I was barely known, and even the sordid reputation I carried was odious: the rude, apathetic, hermit, exotic noblewoman who was most likely an enchantress, ensorcelling the Prince under her every sultry word. I denied this every chance I got, but anyone who didn't know me well enough seemed unconvinced.

"I will make no promises; none of you frighten me. What is this task you insist I do before regaining my freedom?"

"None of us frighten you?" Here, Gehedrion laughed, although Yukael was the one who spoke. His outburst of sadistic mirth was sliced into silence by a supremely censorious gaze from the older man.

"That, my lady, is something I highly doubt. But that's an argument for later. You do not have so much time to make your decision, I'll have you know. By the time we get to Whitewhey, your decision must be made, and your mind willing to stick with it. If you refuse our offer of a way to obtain your freedom, I'm afraid we shall have to call justice upon you, and let the Royal Family know what sort of jest had been played before their very eyes. If you accept… then you will not regret it."

I wanted to snort, but I knew that would be a mistake; I sorely disbelieved they could have the nerve to call this an _offer_. This was no offer; it was a demand, with a threat. It was blackmail.

"Does this task bring about anything ill? Does it harm anyone, or kill, or steal?"

"Oh, no. No, no, no. Why call upon a woman to do that when a man can execute that without trouble? In fact, you may break a heart if you do not accept the proposition," Yukael said in a neutral tone. It was just like an old man to speak without passion on such topics.

"I am afraid that I couldn't care less what your bandits would feel."

"And what of your freedom and security of title? You are aware of the consequence for your deception, yes?"

I was very much aware. The cords in my neck stiffened. "Yes," I managed.

"Then this is what you will do: you will continue on with your noblewoman charade, but as another. We have prepared a name and identity for this new false character. We cannot have Prince Clement catch us all by hearing of the Lady Rozenta roaming the roads of Whitewhey, now can we? So you will be Lady Evetti, cousin of one of our men, who will also be masquerading as a nobleman. One of our men, Huvyl, will be Lord Huvyl, by your say. You will befriend a baroness by the name of Lady Asca, and try to match her up with Lord Huvyl, when you have her assured trust. It will be your responsibility to bring them together, in the terms of a _couple_. It will be dangerous, as she has recently been widowed and left with all the possessions and wealth of her dead husband, so she wouldn't want to be too social. But surely a girl like you can handle that, yes?"

I could barely come to terms with the demands he set for me. They were ridiculous, and absurd, and exploitive, and just plain vindictive, but there was something else about the demands that troubled me: they were barely what could be expected from bandits. Suddenly, I grew suspicious. What sort of bandits were these, really? It was either they were something more than bandits, or there was more to the story than they were willing to tell. I spat out, "But I cannot accomplish this! This is nonsensical! Do you expect me to really do this, to lie further?"

"We expect you to _cooperate_, Rozenta."

Another thing made itself known to me: they didn't know I was truly named Eszti. The servant Gehedrion coaxed was probably one that had seen me arrive as a Gypsy and knew of Clement's concealment of my presence. The right bed, indeed. They only knew the false mask I put on even as a Gypsy, and they considered that the real truth.

"That is all?" I snapped with derision, abruptly feeling weary.

"It sounds simple, does it not? Not a hard task… an easy way to win your freedom. You will keep all this a secret, and you will stay in the home we deem proper, and you will be under our control until this game is done. You will ask no more questions, and seek no more answers. Is that agreed? But do not forget that you are responsible for bringing Huvyl and Lady Asca together, which MUST ultimately result in marriage. It must. Do not forget."

The emphasis they put on 'must' and 'marriage' startled me, set anew my suspicions. Was this about money? Well, well, well. I decided to risk just one more question.

"This Lady Asca… is she rich?"

Gehedrion retorted before Yukael could. "What did we say about questions?"

"Is she?" I persisted, directing the question at Yukael. "Speak truly."

Yukael paused for a moment, his face unreadable, and then said, "No, she is not." I caught the incredulous look Gehedrion gave him right before he swiped it away. That was enough of an answer for me.

Impatient, I settled on the fur, trying to make myself comfortable, trying to convince myself that with rest, I could gather enough of my wits to find an easier way out of this. This was certainly about money, and I knew this would bring about an ill fate for this Lady Asca, but I had to be able to stay around and stay in the bandits' graces. Or wherever I stood in their minds and plans. It wouldn't do to be cut from their inner plots just because of a malign at my pride.

Trying to look pitifully helpless – and by now I was passing good at acting and pretending, so I could tell by their faces they were convinced (Gehedrion was looking sadistically gleeful again) – I sighed and covered my face with my hands in mock-anguish. "Yes, yes, fine, _fine_! I will do… whatever fool task I have been set to! You have my word on that. Only, leave me alone now. I want to rest. This has been a…" here, I paused with convincing despair. "… a terrible ordeal for me. To be away from those that _do_ care for me, only to be replaced into the company of those who don't give a sixpence if I die so long as I get their absurdities into motion. Just let me rest." And to top off this great drama, I cringed into the corner of the wagon.

From the corner of my eye, I could see Gehedrion's evil smirk, saying "Yes, you Great Royal Fraud" and exited the flap with a hearty laugh. I was confused, just a little. He had seemed friendlier to me earlier, and then suddenly he's leeching delight out of my negativity. Perhaps it was something I said, or maybe it was the fact I had gotten him into trouble with Yukael.

"Rest well. You have plenty of work ahead of you, in Whitewhey, where we will meet Huvyl and your… client."

"Please tell the other bandits not to disturb me."

"I will let them know," he said, surprisingly polite. I thought a bit, looking towards the wagon entrance flap, and asked him, "What time of day is this?"

"Some hours after dawn. Perhaps a bit more than 'few'. When we arrive in Whitewhey, you will be awoken and fed breakfast."

"Mmm." And with a hassled wave of my hand, he exited, as quiet as the stone he somewhat resembled. In the bitter silence, I was left with only my pounding head, my thumping heart, and a desperate burden. If I thought myself unlucky in Clement's captivity, then I truly am spoiled. Oh, what to do… what to do… how to get myself out of this…

Trying to concentrate on a proper plan, I stressed myself, and with stress came a deep sleep. I could barely deny myself the pleasure of rest, but even then I was uneasy: my half-conscious thoughts were full of a face that brought me a feeling of shame, guilt, and yet… I wanted so much to see him again. To hear his voice, to feel his hand place the lily in my hair just once more…

Unconsciously, I put a hand to the lily in my hair, but it was no longer there.

o…o…o…o…o

Yukael passed through the flap and looked around at the other bandits, his stare in its usual hard demeanor. Hinhma was pestering Royleo again as Royleo drove the wagon, and Gehedrion was lounging, leaning on the wooden pole that supported one of the metal hoops of the wagon. Jonsol, who had aided in the capture of the girl, did not come with them to Whitewhey. He was to stay in Arvette and keep an eye on the doings of the Royal Family and on anything that may get in their way, and then report them to their organizer conman in Whitewhey. Yukael was amazed at the conman's skill at scheming, for he was not even a bandit; he had a reputation to protect.

The boy looked up at Yukael's entrance, with a rather spiteful look on his face. "Is the _Signora_ sleeping?" he snarled. "Sleeping and satisfied?"

Yukael nodded, taking a seat beside Gehedrion. "Yes. She has asked that no one disturb her, but she is aware that she will be awoken when we arrive at Whitewhey."

Gehedrion snorted. "Naturally. You don't expect us to carry her around as she oversleeps, do you? And besides, I shall have fun having her awoken by a bucketful of water, up to the very brim."

This time, Yukael replied sharply, once again displeased by the lad. "You will not. We have not even enough water for that vengeful act, and we mustn't abuse her so. Otherwise, our plan will never come through, and our organizer will have our heads on a pike. Do you understand?"

Gehedrion did not respond immediately; he was lost in scowling at the floor in ill-concealed displeasure. Yukael didn't know what to do with the boy. Yukael was more than willing, at the beginning, to take the orphan under his wing and teach him what it took to be a bandit, to be a true outlaw. But something had happened to the boy somewhere along the line, and now he was almost impossible to teach. All the promise in him was now gone. Yukael wished he could have the Gypsy girl to teach in place of this brat. She showed true potential as a bandit, and she was an excellent actress, and she knew how to plot and bargain and conceal. She would prove to be an adept pupil.

Finally, Gehedrion spoke. "You favor her. You do!"

"She would be a good student, Gehedrion. She has excellent potential; what other choice is given me right now but to favor her? If ever she were a student, she'd be one of the best in my history."

A shadow passed over the boy's face, and it darkened with jealousy and rage. Through the boy's wrathful expression, Yukael could see deep hurt, hatred, and longing. _He fights for my favor_, Yukael realized after a moment. _How could I have not seen it before? He is jealous of this girl. My words have stabbed him._

_Oops_, Yukael thought. Inside, he smiled grimly. He was going to have to be a bit more careful with his tongue; now, without knowing it, he had just caused a great mass of enmity between Gehedrion and Rozenta. _How unfortunate. This may well be an undoing for one or the other. What folly I have just demonstrated._

Perhaps Yukael would've been more worried if he took one more look at his pupil; once Yukael had looked away, Gehedrion had stared at the flap that separated him and Rozenta. His face was alight with resentment and a silent swear of vengeance.

o…o…o…o…o

Noon came and went with the passing of a few hours, and still Eszti had not awoken. It was the bandits' great luck to have seen a courier – one of Jonsol's men, the bandits realized – riding on the same dirt road they were taking to Whitewhey and slowed him, inquiring of the condition the city of Arvette was now in. The courier did not speak, but gravely handed them a letter and uttered, "I've no time for a reply, and Jonsol knows that. Unless you've got some important message for me to send to him, I've got to be on my way. Farewell, and ride fast."

Befuddled by the urgency in the courier's demeanor and tone, Yukael had the honor of opening the letter – which was not signed by a name, as was Jonsol's style – and reading it aloud to the other bandits. The letter was short and concise, but full of foreboding.

_Arvette has been thrown into a whirl by the girl's kidnapping. The Prince himself is calling a troop of riders to him, and he is leading a search for the girl throughout Merilian. He'll be riding through Whitewhey too, so keep a low profile and hurry! The Prince had left with his troop at noon, taking the head road through Merilian – the one that leads to Kione in the end. You'll find it interesting that he knows bandits took her. That little, big-eyed servant girl had seen us, and proved to be a threat to us after all._

_Do not reply to this missive; it's too dangerous. If you've got anything to say, leave the message with Seban. He is trustworthy. Be safe, and treat the girl well, if you value your lives._

o…o…o…o…o

**Afterthoughts: **A long chapter, and one that was finished quickly. I'm finally being useful, aren't I? I have not much to say except that wise readers would keep an eye out for everything written about Lady Asca and everything written about this mysterious conman who had organized this plan.

I must say, I do enjoy taking my readers for an unpredictable spin. There is plenty more to come.


	13. Whitewhey

**Forenotes: **I actually have nothing to really say. I'm in a decidedly blank mood today, but not unpleasantly – only with the will to write, and nothing else.

**Responses:**

**Nebulia** – Lol, it certainly isn't. About denial, that is. Well, here's the update – I hope no one ends up disappointed.

**Moonlite Orchid – **Lol, thanks. And I won't put up the next chapter. No. I am going to keep it in my computer forever, until I eventually ruin this old computer with my teeming collection of documents, leaving this file into the hands of oblivion. That is precisely what I'll do.

**Kadesh** – Lol, a rather funny story behind that, too. I've already explained the POV switch to you in another email, if I remember rightly, and have you guessed who the big-eyed girl is? I was so sure it'd be obvious.

**Phillippa of the Phoenix** – I am rather fond of Yukael myself – not the typical, one-faced side character one finds in stories. He is rather disdainful of Eszti, but then again he is impressed by her skills, sparing her some respect. You will see plenty of him in the future chapters. Ah, I've heard recommendations for the works of Tamora Pierce many times… many times, but right now I'm still lost in the Sevenwaters Trilogy – I bought _Part Two: Son of Shadows _a few days ago and I just finished it, leaving me thirsty for _Part Three:_ _Child of the Prophecy_. But don't worry; I'll buy something by Tamora Pierce the next time I see one.

**Fireworksinmybackpocket** – Thanks, and I don't know about getting it published. Those editors are bloodthirsty, I've heard – and I've got too many story ideas to present this one. I'll write, and write, and write until I produce something presentable for the public, and then I'll make sure I never stop writing. There are plenty of authors that stop writing after making one bestseller, and I will make sure I am not among them.

**Rainkisser** – Lol, thank you… your support means the world to me, as well as those other readers out there. If I ever stop stressing on this story long enough, I'll be sure to look at some of yours. But for now, I can only hope to get through this story alive.

**Vio Memen** – Lol, that's all right. The beginning was meant to be slow since it's mostly expository; I am not the kind of writer to launch write into the story without providing any stable information first, unless it's only for effect such as in prologues. And I am not turning the story suddenly into third-person; I made the last bit third person to give it a broader view of her situation. If it had remained first person, how could you exactly see how lost in jealousy Gehedrion was, as Eszti had been sleeping? And I remember no rule about keeping the story in the same perspective all the while; in writing, the only rules are to keep your imagination wide, to write within the boundaries of decency, and to hold yourself to no other restrictions. Some people read to escape the world of rules and limitation, and how can they have that when the world they escape into is still chained? Many great stories can be written any way the author wishes it, first person all the way or no.

The spelling is indeed Eszti, and it is a real name, so it has a real pronounciation, doesn't it? ESS-TEE. (just an amateur's guess) The slithering sound would be enhanced by the 'z', of course, but other than that the name is not too difficult to pronounce, if you think about it deep enough. And about this modern theory of yours… I can see several holes in that. They did not just "allow her" to run off – she did it without anyone's consent, to play a fool and prove she was not scared of the consequences. Her stubbornness can pull her into tight situations, certainly, but it can also bring her out of them, while milder people find it more difficult. And during the era in which she existed (in my fantasy world, that is), it was much easier to just run off and disappear than it is in our present-day reality. No passports to keep track of, no selling your house, no checking papers and dealings such as those. There are also no chances of people trying to ambush her camp, because although the higher class fears them for foolish reasons, they leave them alone, as the Royal Family knows the Gypsies are peaceful; they knew Lieron, for example, and from what he could tell there was no ill intent planned by his people onto the richer folk. As far as the richer folk are concerned, the Gypsies are just dangerous people that come to visit lands one by one, meant to enter and leave without having anything to do with them. If any city resident attempted murder on the Gypsies, they wouldn't be without consequence; according to the government, the Gypsies are people too. Also, Eszti was the only one of her friends foolish and brave enough to carry out the acquiring of the horse, so none of them could be her "guard", and no other camp member was to know of her plans. And knowing her, she'd rather go alone, bringing the horse as proof of her accomplished task.

I know Clement can be flawed, but you look at the wrong reasons. He can be blinded by his emotions and he can expect too much from those who can hardly give, but he is not so terrible a man as to kill Eszti. He laughed at Eszti's small fear of him in wonder that she could actually believe he'd have her killed, since to him the idea is ludicrous. He would defend her to the death, and he expects her to know that. He can be insensitive, but aren't all men? Lol, maybe I could have Eszti do that, just to have her show him that around her, men would do better to walk on eggshells.

Lol, if I ever need some counsel, I will notify you. Expect it. :-)

**Mistyqueen** – Thank you :-) I cannot say Lady Asca is completely shrouded in mystery, but I will reveal that she will become a very important characterafter not too long a time.

**Poisonmoon** – Ah, must you dub it 'boring'? There is no better way to explain her entire situation than to give it its own chapter, and even then there is definitely more to the story. I've noticed the monotony of having nothing but conversations, so I'll try to tone down on the detail – would that be better?

**TrudiRose** – Well, we'll have to find out for sure if she truly is rich or not – she is a baroness, after all. Lol, and I figured I had to use some sort of excuse for the long, educated responses Gehedrion and Eszti gave.

**Mellem** – She is very unlucky, and things won't really improve for her – at the moment, at least. There are deeper, darker things on the road ahead. :grim smile: But as they say, obstacles either tear you apart or make you stronger, and only time can tell what fate makes of Eszti.

o…o…o…o…o

**Chapter Thirteen: **Whitewhey

o…o…o…o…o

"Oh, Clemmie, please, you're being absolutely absurd! You're going on about this all wrong - !"

"What would you have me do then? Leave her to rot? Forgive me if you would, but I cannot be so dishonorable." Aeolus neighed nervously at his master's tone, but otherwise stayed deferentially still. Rough hands - desperate, agitated, tired hands – fastened on his saddle harshly, not giving a care for the horse's own comfort.

Impressively enough, Marguerite would not submit.

"Clement, there are enough troops to go search for her without you having to join them! You don't have to go! You can stay here, with your just-returned parents, with the loyal subjects that need you, with me." At the mention of herself, her crisp blue eyes brightened hopefully.

Clement, his expression one of indescribable anger, looked Marguerite in the eye savagely before straightening the saddle and mounting Aeolus with excess force. "I am sorry, Lady Marguerite, but I cannot just rest in my cozy castle when Lady Rozenta could be anywhere, or perhaps even dead." Although Clement did not believe that at all; she was too headstrong and clever to die. "She is my guest, after all. How would you have me explain her disappearance to her country?"

Marguerite, her face pinched with grief, took a step back and finally gave in, hanging her golden-curled head and giving an overly dramatic sob. "But you might die. Oh, must you go?"

"I don't intend to, Lady. Die, that is. What danger must I so severely fear?"

But his attention was diverted completely when Eder and Elaine came into view, just emerged from within the castle and bringing a terrified Marcella along. Clement stiffened. Uneasy, he tore his gaze from the little girl and stared at Elaine instead.

"Does she remember anything new, Elaine? Anything that may be of aid?"

Elaine's shake of the head was distraught enough to serve as an answer. "Nothing she hasn't reported already. Lady Rozenta out in the courtyard, alone and under a starless firmament, and then captured by four bandits – all in traveler's clothing, but even those with little sense can tell them for who they truly are. Two young men, thin… another in the prime of his maturity, coming close to forty years from what Marcella can tell… and one burly, barrel-chested, and bearded, Sire. I am afraid she can reveal nothing else."

Clement's solemn face – if it could possibly do so any further – fell.

"But -!" piped in little Marcella, her cloudy hazel eyes widening even more and her coffee-colored curls bouncing a little. " I did find this, milord, after she was taken away." And she stretched out her arm, her hand opening to reveal a trampled-upon lily. "Miss Elaine says this was a part of her gown. Is it useful?"

It wasn't. Not in the least. "Of course it is, Marcella," Clement lied hoarsely, taking the precious, dying flower with a careful hold, as if unwilling to damage it further. "I shall take care of it. Thank you."

And the little lass, looking immensely pleased with herself, smiled a small smile, as if she had managed to find one small joy in all this distress. Elaine looked sharply at Clement, for she knew his lie for what it was, but looked upon Marcella with a tender face. "We all thank you so much for bearing witness, Marcella. It's a wonder you aren't hurt. We can only wish the best for Lady Rozenta, can't we? And for the searching troop, and his Highness the Prince."

Marcella allowed herself to be drawn gently away by a harassed-looking Eder, but not before uttering, "She was smart, and pretty. I liked her. She stood up to Lady Marguerite when she was being mean to me again." And then Marcella grew pink in the face as she was sent away, as if she had said too much.

Elaine sighed, but Clement cut her attempt on relaxation off by saying suddenly, "Elaine, can I speak with you? I… I cannot go on like this without seeking some help from someone, and you are the best confidant right now. If Rozenta were here – " and he cut off as well, looking for all the world confused and helpless.

_Goodness. He's the Crown Prince, but right now he looks no stronger than a lost puppy! _"What is it, Your Majesty? You fear the Lady's death?"

He surprised her by letting out a dry laugh that certainly did not hold mirth. "Of course not. How can I? She is like a bull; not easy to dispose of. Not at all. Too stubborn to die, and too clever to be stumped in a desperate situation." But he paused, looking horrified, and then muttered in a tone of self-loathing, "Oh, I'm doing it again, all be damned. I'm too selfish. Not serious enough. Not enough to save her."

Cautious of the Prince's inevitable incapability to balance his emotions, Elaine said slowly, as if speaking to a rambling toddler, "Is this… going anywhere, Sire? I do not believe she is dead, but I do not also believe she is immortal. But whatever the case, I hope she is safe, and remains so."

And then Elaine understood why her Prince was acting like this. She had heard from a gossiping noble lady that the Prince was professing his love to Rozenta, but in an angry, hurt way. Elaine couldn't say she approved at all. Having spent more time with the girl, she knew it was vital to try to understood all Rozenta went through, and Clement wasn't bothering to make it any easier. But at least he was regretting it now. That was the first step to improvement: realizing you've done wrong.

His steady, cobalt eyes met Elaine's blue-grey, frosty ones. He could hardly believe that such an empathetic woman could possess orbs like those. They didn't suit her at all. "She got kidnapped… and it's my fault. I chased her away, gave her some reason to go outside. Alone. And then she got kidnapped."

_When he isn't being either magnificent or arrogant,_ Elaine couldn't resist to think, _he can be an absolute child._ "You own some blame, but not all. She was nervous in that stuffy dining hall, and couldn't refrain from getting some fresh air. And you made things worse." Elaine knew she was stabbing him with every word, but he deserved it. "And if Marcella's story serves true, they'd been waiting for such an opportunity the entire night."

"I'm too selfish for her. I don't deserve her, Elaine. You know that. I thought I did, before, that I had charmed her correctly, but now I know better. You cannot plan out other people's reactions. Things do not work out that way, do they?"

"I think whether or not you're too selfish for her is a judgment only Rozenta can make. And you think you charmed her, do you?" Elaine's lip twitched a little. "You tried, I'll give you that. But in all our talks together, it seems to me that she fell for what you did not intend to show her. Just remember you failed her once, but you were given another chance. You've let your more minor swarm of feelings cloud your judgment, and you exaggerated them to her. She believes it her fault, you know. But if you try to do better… all can be forgiven. Rozenta forgives. I know she's too stubborn sometimes to show it, but she does."

Clement fell into silence, the impact of Elaine's words taking a hold of him. The troop members and Co-captain, Messero, were now looking impatiently at Clement, for noon was approaching quickly – their time of departure. Suddenly realizing she held him up, Elaine changed her tone back to its sharper manner, saying, "I am glad we have had this talk, Your Majesty, but your troop needs you. Noon draws closer, and you must be fully prepared. I pray that you would think over what you can do to redeem yourself, and that you take care on your journey. You cannot rescue Rozenta if you die on the way. You have a selfish side, yes, but it's not so strong that nothing can change it, lessen it. Ride fast."

And with a final nod, Elaine left Clement to awake from his thoughts rather abruptly. She had done what she was sought after to do, said what she needed to say, and hopefully she had done it well. She owed Rozenta that small token, at the very least. As a wave of sadness washed over her again, she decided that she'd look for Eder and Marcella and see if she could persuade them to accompany her. After all, those courtyard bushes would not investigate themselves.

_And where on earth were those guards the night she disappeared?_

o…o…o…o…o

"Awaken, princess! Awaken! Did you not hear me? You stir, so you _must_ hear me. Stubborn little – " but I was awake, and my anger pulling me from my drowsiness, I was able to sit up. I could not see him, for he was yelling from outside the wagon, but I could hear him well enough.

"Stuff it, Gehedrion," I snarled unceremoniously, rubbing my irritated flesh, which had endured an itchy, uncomfortable night. Was this bear fur? I wouldn't be surprised if it were. These bandits were without _sense_, I could _swear_. Deer fur was easier to obtain, and more comfortable. Perhaps this bear fur was at a lower price, considering its apparently low quality.

"Yukael left food for you. Bread, and mutton, and we have water. No wine, I'm afraid; not ideal for traveling, even with a wealthy Lady in tow."

I chose to ignore him; he was not worth my time. Instead, I found the food he was yelling on about. The same kind of brown bread – a little harder this time – with a wooden dish of dry mutton. They had left out a cup for me – _I should thank them for that act of decency, _I thought with irrepressible sarcasm – so I could collect water from their jug later on.

As I bit into a bit of bread and mutton simultaneously, I realized for the first time since I had woken up that the wagon was no longer moving. Did we arrive into Whitewhey already? It had seemed like such a small amount of time had passed. But what time was it, truly? Surely it couldn't be long after noon. If it were, then I had slept for so long! I couldn't have been that tired, now could I?

So I waited until I had eaten through two loaves of bread and my serving of mutton until I decided to step out of the wagon for fresh air.

Unexpectedly, a hand shot out to grab my wrist as soon I had brought my second foot out of the wagon and onto the solid floor.

Indignant, I tried to wriggle my hand from Gehedrion's grip, but his fingers only clamped tighter on my skin. I looked up and saw in his eyes a terrible fury, a growing loathing. _What is so wrong with him_, I thought, _that he has to look at me with such hatred? Had I done anything to justly merit it?_

"You must be guarded at all times," he grated, his voice not quite as smooth as it had been the night before. "So they say. Your every move in our company will be monitored, and guided, and criticized. And last night the men and I had a short meeting regarding that matter. And well, well, well." His malevolent smirk was enough to make me wary; he looked manic. "It seems I have the pleasure of keeping that strict eye on you; or so Yukael thinks. He volunteered me, and I was forced ultimately into acceptance."

"What!" I exclaimed, forgetting my wrist and searching frantically into his face for any sign of a prank, of a joke. There was nothing in his face but for that mad smile. "Is he insane? How can he set you to such a task, when you despise me so openly? Yes, it's that apparent," I snapped in response to his briefly surprised look.

"Well, then I'd better get started watching you." Saying this, he finally released my wrist and I withdrew it contemptuously. "If you want water, tell me so – "

"No. I am not thirsty."

"No, you are stupidly obstinate. I am to lead you into town to show you Whitewhey, and then I'm to show you the manor where you will stay. We will be riding on horses." For indeed, there were horses further behind him: four; all were tall and strong, but each beautifully different in their own way. One was white speckled with black; another was glossy with a copper-like hue; the tallest, however, was black save for a little diamond on his forehead, and the remaining one was a grayish white with pearly, lustrous hair.

I looked back at him, my eyes shining a bit from looking upon the horses. They were absolutely beautiful. "They're radiant; all of them. Can I pick mine? Please? Where did you obtain such treasures?"

"Let's just say," Gehedrion said wryly, "that our generously wealthy benefactor sent them to us, not long ago. While you were sleeping. He sent five of his men to come here, right through the boundary of Whitewhey: one in a carriage and four riding upon a single horse each. They all retreated into the carriage to return home. He has also lent us his manor, for this brief mission of yours. He won't be staying in it; he's off living somewhere else at the moment. Rich man, he is. Owns plenty of property. Glad to meet him, you'll probably be… to ensorcel yet another prosperous man of reputation under your spells."

If I were just a _bit_ more stupid, I would've slapped him. He spoke of me as though I were a temptress, a master seductress. These accusations, even if they didn't hurt, irritated me immensely. My eyes smoldered.

"Yukael will be accompanying us into Whitewhey; we have passed only through its gates sometime ago. There'll be some valley and country – but a sure road, nonetheless – and then it'll lead into the town. Since you'll be here awhile, you should get acquainted with the surroundings." Yukael, glancing at the two of us, raised a hand in greeting and strode to speak to us. He carried the reins of the speckled horse, which trotted placidly behind him.

"Exactly how long am I expected to stay here? You are aware that I will be missed, of course?"

"As long as the task takes. Lady Asca has recently suffered the loss of her husband, so it will take a while to get into her good books. And then you must draw Huvyl into her good books along with you. Does this sound so easy?" A dark-complexioned youth who seemed younger than myself passed the reins to the copper-colored horse to Gehedrion, who took them firmly. He then handed me the reins to the fair, whiter horse and I took them, tugging them closer to me so I could draw a hand across his mane, my touch full of love and begging for a chance to be trusted.

Gehedrion saw this. "It is a she; her name is Miadonn. She may look sweet and gentle, but she is the hardest of these horses to manage." At this, I laughed, for Miadonn paused hesitantly at the feel of my hand, but eventually gave in to the womanly stroke; she pushed her nose under my fingers.

When Yukael finally reached us, he was on his mount. "She is a lot like you, actually, Rozenta," he said, with the slightest tilt to one corner of his lips. "Absolutely intolerable."

I drew myself up proudly, actually pleased at his words. Strength of mind and spirit was something I prided myself on, sometimes to even my own undoing. "I've no objection to that." I mounted Miadonn and followed Yukael and Gehedrion through and past the final layer of boundary into Whitewhey.

o…o…o…o…o

Our ride into the town was quick; the ride through the valleys took a quarter less of an hour, and we made it into the busy villages of Whitewhey safely and without trouble. We didn't bother to rest our horses, but we just rode atop our mounts along the streets. Yukael and Gehedrion pointed out how the homes were divided from the shops and guild shelters and the more important buildings. The shops were many, and the streets were busy, and the people were all too occupied to pay mind to one another. Arvette was different; it was not as hectic and the homes were much more plentiful. Whitewhey seemed more like one giant marketplace just as Arvette seemed like one giant neighborhood.

Yukael, Gehedrion, and I made no stops for ourselves. Before we made to depart to this manor they spoke of, we dismounted at the city stables, watered and fed our horses, and then immediately took off. The three of us had no conversation to offer one another – save for Gehedrion and Yukael, I suppose – but generally we spent the riding day silently.

We reached the great iron, vine-entwined gates of their benefactor's manor near sundown. We had no lunch, and were famished by the time we got through the gates.

"See this manor? This is where you will stay, along with myself and Yukael, who has volunteered to make sure I do my job and that you cooperate. Oh, and Huvyl, who is already residing within these walls. This place has three bedchambers, I believe – you will be staying in the master's, which has been cleared for your convenience. Huvyl will have his own room and I am sharing one with Yukael," Gehedrion explained as we dropped off our horses in the stables so we could wash up, eat, and ultimately rest.

As I was escorted to my chambers by a petite, brown-haired servant who seemed a year younger than I, I studied my surroundings, tried to figure what kind of benefactor could live here. The place was immaculate, but there were few servants – three serving maids, a laundress, a cook, and a stable boy, according to the maid, whose name was Corinne. She was pleasant, but terribly shy, and she said little, apparently intimidated by my appearance for some unknown reason. When we reached my quarters, I begged that she'd help me choose a gown from the small pile that had been set onto the great canopy bed. When she closed the door securely, I did what I knew I had to.

I grabbed her shoulders, pushed her against the wall, and clamped a hand over her mouth, staring at her fiercely.

"Look," I explained clearly to the panicked girl. "I am not aiming to hurt you, but I want answers. You know more than you let on; I can see that much. I am not stupid. And you _will_ tell me, or you will suffer a fate worse than any these bandits and your master can threaten you with. I have connections and – but you've probably been told of my story, am I right? I have the government, and the Royal Prince, on my side, so you will swear fealty to me. Is that understood? Is it?"

At her small, terrified, quick nod, I thought of what else I should say to make sure she couldn't worm out of my control. "You will swear it this instant; you will do nothing against me, and you will notify me of all you know. And you will tell no one what I say to you tonight, what I am doing to you right now. Displease me in any way, and I can have your punishment _specialized_; something slow, painful, torturous. From now on, you are my servant and my ally, and no one else's. Have I made myself clear?"

She nodded again, close to tears. I did not slacken my grip in the least.

"Swear it," I said firmly, taking my hand from her mouth.

"I swear, I swear! I am as good as yours, milady," she said, her voice quavering and cracking. I regretted that I had to be so harsh, but it couldn't be done any other way. This showed her that even without any connections, I could take her out on my own. And I did what I intended to do, so why rue it?

"Oh, my," I sighed, stepping back and smoothing my rumpled, dirty gown angrily. "I let myself go there; I am sorry. That was cruel of me. But you understand, don't you?" I added, a vicious glint in my eyes. She nodded, still looking frightened. "Good, then. One job done. You will help me choose a gown and you will let me wash up, and then I shall prod some answers from you. There is much that those accursed bandits have left unsaid."

o…o…o…o…o

A half-hour later, Corinne and I had fallen into friendly discussion, while she brushed my wet, fragrant hair as I sat on the room's vanity. I had spoke pleasantly to her until she felt sure that I wouldn't try bullying her again, until she was sure that I was an overall congenial woman.

"This vanity… it is set with the tokens of a lady. Does your master have a wife?" I inquired, examining some expensive-looking fragrance bottles and a white brush with a handle made of ivory. The ivory comb that matched it was what Corinne was currently using.

The brush strokes paused slightly, as though she knew she shouldn't be answering that question, but I'm sure she had my threat in her mind, for she said firmly, "I heard he had taken a bride in the land where he traveled. I am not so sure, for he hadn't appeared in our manor since he left for other lands. These trinkets were bought recently, when it was decided that she'd move in when they returned from the wedding."

So he was out traveling, then? Perhaps that was the reason for his absence. "Hmm. What land did he travel to, exactly?"

"Buenntè."

I knew no one of importance from that land, so this bit of information helped me not. I sighed impatiently. "That is not helpful. I know no one from that place. No one who could possibly be his bride."

"I have not met her, milady."

I quirked a smile. "You are aware that I am an imposter, aren't you?"

Through the looking glass, I could see Corinne nod respectfully. "Yes, I am, but I am your lady-in-waiting and that is reason enough for me to address you with respect."

"You needn't. I wonder that you bother to, considering how I treated you earlier. Really, you needn't."

"Oh, but it is my duty to, milady. I do not mind."

After she chose a dark blue frock for me – plain and simple, for a change – she brushed my hair once again and pulled a silver circlet atop my head. "Master Yukael ordered I have you wear this, as you have to look convincing when you visit Lady Asca tonight."

I turned sharply, my look furious. "Tonight? Now? I have not yet eaten!"

Corinne looked meek again. "They say you are to be fed when you return. I am sorry, but I cannot reveal to them I am loyal to you only, now. You'd be in trouble, madam."

"But I am to meet Lady Asca tonight? What ever for?"

"To pay condolences for the recent death of His Lord Baron Ozril, who was her husband. He was a good man. His death brought much sorrow."

I paused, playing with a question in my mind. "The baroness… she is rich, yes?"

Corinne looked startled. "Of course. Well, only because she was wife to the baron, who was indeed worth a fortune. The Lady herself is not rich; noblewomen nowadays don't inherit unless they're an only child. If she had never married the baron, or anyone at all, she would be poor. Women in the noble society do not possess much," she added bitterly. I could not blame her for her anger. I too felt affronted at how poorly women were treated.

"But the baron's money… where does it go?"

"To his baroness, of course. They have no children, no sons between them, so she will now inherit his fortune."

_So._ She wasn't rich, not yet, but she would be. And if this Huvyl got to marry her…

_Everything was about money,_ I thought with fury. _Gold had some role in everything that went on. Everything._

There were a few knocks at my door, and with a nod of approval from me, Corinne pulled it open. It was Gehedrion, and another bandit, one who looked older than him by possibly two years, accompanied him. The older bandit wore a vest of black silk over a nobleman's attire, with a feathered hat and a lantern. Gehedrion tossed me a black silk cloak, jerking his head towards the door.

"As Corinne should've explained to you, you're coming with us to the residence of Lady Asca. To display our sympathy. Remember, you will be Lady Evetti of Kione, cousin of Lord Huvyl, my companion here, both relatives of a wealthy count." Huvyl threw me a half-smile. "We are leaving now. You will eat when you return."

I took the cloak and the lantern with all the grace of a noblewoman, already putting up my 'Lady of Elysia' mask. "Very well. It would be best to make haste, then. Are we to walk? Hmm. We should manage."

Nodding farewell to Corinne, I led Huvyl out of the bedroom, leaving him laughing at my credible behavior.

o…o…o…o…o

"I am terribly sorry, milady, but the Lady is indisposed at the moment. You cannot see her. She remains in bed," said a manservant, eyeing Huvyl and myself carefully as we stood on the baroness's doorstep. Her manor was quite grand, quite impressive, but there was no use visiting it if I couldn't see the baroness. Indignant, I turned and gave Huvyl the best glare I could. He only shrugged and left me to do the talking.

"We wish only to stay for a little, to pay our condolences for her recent loss. We expect no great exertion of strength on her behalf, but only to say what must be said. Surely we can accomplish this?"

But the manservant would not be swayed so easily. "No, madam. She is ill, possibly from a fever. Maybe even the same fever that proved to be the baron's demise, God be kind upon his soul. So you see, it would be dangerous for her to come out."

And with that I could not argue. I nodded in understanding and turned to leave when another man, stunningly handsome, stepped out from the door, looking for all the world attractively pleased to see us. He seemed to hold some sort of power over the manservant, for he said in rich tones, "Oh, Elberto, do let them in. It is a cold night tonight, and they are guests. They can send their commiseration through me," and the manservant obeyed.

Once inside, Elberto offered us hot tea and biscuits, to which I happily agreed, crankily ravenous as I was. Huvyl declined and looked at the handsome man inquiringly.

"I understand she is unwell, sir, but may I see her anyway? It would mean so much if I could speak to her. I am deeply concerned," Huvyl pleaded tenderly, to which the handsome man cordially consented. This left me alone with the good-looking man, and I fought the hard impulse to stare.

He was tall, and lean, and broad-shouldered, and he walked and spoke with a grace I could only call polished. He impressed with merely a stare with those dark, infinite eyes, and his white smile was so full of secrets that I could only be amazed. I felt the more girlish part of me force my cheeks to redden.

"Welcome, welcome. You are most honored within these halls," he said courteously, confidently. He reminded me of Clement a little, but he was much more serious. "I am Lord Donte, older brother of Lady Asca. You send your sympathies?"

I forced myself to put on a grave, solemn frown, to ignore the sort of way this man's appearance affected me. I was, after all, sixteen; one couldn't blame me for feeling slightly giddy.

"When she requests for my identity, let her know I am Lady Evetti of Kione. And yes, I do. But apparently, I cannot give them to her at the moment, so I have no other purpose here. Really, I should be going now. My cousin, Lord Huvyl, may stay here if he wishes, but I would rather be going. I have business elsewhere," I said boldly, looking up at Lord Donte and trying not to weaken.

"You should stay. There is no hurry, milady."

"No, milord. I am just tired, and in need of a decent rest. In my own home, that is, where it is most appropriate. Traveling is indeed difficult, you know."

"Ah, but stay nonetheless." He came to sit beside me – a bit close, I thought, the back of my neck heating up. "You should visit more often. You set the room alight with your very presence."

I wasn't moved. I stood, saying, "I should be going. I insist. I cannot stay for long."

He looked mildly surprised, but stood too, and held the door for me when I took the lantern and left. "Let my companion know that I, unlike him, have no business here. I thank you kindly for the hospitality, however. I must be going."

"But do return," he said charmingly, his hand slightly brushing mine as he held the door until I had passed through. A shiver ran through me, but I ignored it, forcing myself to think of Clement, a topic that I fought from my mind often. He would be the only man for me. And I hoped, distantly, that somewhere out there he'd have men searching for me, if he couldn't go out himself.

I emerged into the evening completely and pulled up my hood, so that a shadow hid my features.

"I will take mind to, Lord Donte."

"You will be most certainly welcome." And he closed the door, leaving me alone on the doorstep. Huvyl would be angry that I wormed my way out of my task, but I cared not. This small mystery was unraveling itself quite nicely, but I needed a few more answers. And I would certainly find some.

With this lantern that I now called mine, I traveled hurriedly, managing to make my hike look like a run, along the road. If I remembered rightly there was a tavern not three minutes west of the manor, and there were only about two minutes between there and Lady Asca's residence. I would pass the manor where I was staying, but I would move fast enough to remain uncaught.

I focused on finding the tavern, and speaking to the Whitewhey citizens, praying that they would know something useful about Lady Asca and the bandits. It would be unsafe to be so persistent for answers, but I was too willful to die.

o…o…o…o…o

**Afterthoughts: **The end is rough and stressed – since I am actually being timed right now – and I have had another very bad day. The writing here is very strained and I had to actually _force_ myself to continue writing, as I believe I am starting to hit a Writer's Block. How unfortunate. The story is long, and the writing is barely smooth at all, but I just had to make sure everything that I needed to bring about did happen. If you are clever enough, you could see a little pattern here. But I pray that you study each character carefully, both old and new, both insignificant and immense.


	14. Missed One Mark, Hit Another

**Forenote:** I am very fond of this chapter. I really am. To me, it was as perfectly written as Chapter 13 was not. Revealing a lot in a decent span of time, but still smooth. Or so I see it, and I do try to look at my work with an outsider's point of view. Parts of this chapter may be a little cryptic, so be prepared to think. And to review, of course. :slight grin: Oh, and I beg of all of you not to think any less of Eszti when you see the way she decides to go on with the task, but it's only because she requires Lady Asca's trust to carry out a plan of her own.

**Responses:**

**Black Pixie 1, 2, and 3** – I'm actually a bit of a feminist myself – I can't stand it when men even make a sort of comment that degrades women, even as a joke. Clement was joking, but I hope it offends no one (except Eszti, lol) because it's meant to show that he's arrogant, which I'm sure everyone understands. And he does change, drastically, and just for Eszti too :grins: You'll see that in the beginning of Chapter 13.

YOU'RE A PINAY:is stunned into silence: I'm sorry, but it's just so _rare_…

Lol, and hopefully the site will allow your many reviews – but is unpredictable, so we can only hope.

**Shadow-of-loneliness** - Ah, but what if I have a lawyer? HAHA!Didn't think of that, huh? Well, here's the next chapter - fast enough for you? And what's an ICT lesson?

**Propix24 **– Thank you; thank you very much. Most Harry Potter fanfics are written in a casual, light tone – the one I apply to this fairytale is much more serious. Novel-like, if I have the right to say so. When I am going to update, you ask? When I get enough reviews to kick away the discouragement. :grins:

**Phillippa of the Phoenix** – I don't like him either. Did she love the baron? Skim my rather long 'afterthoughts' and find out. Or read the chapter – including the 'afterthoughts' – and find out.

FIVE MONTHS, you say? That's… heartening. But I fell into a Writer's Block after this chapter, which I am very fond of. Hmm. Maybe some coffee ought to do the trick.

**Kadesh** – Ah, but you are a bit lazy, aren't you? No harm meant; I admit I'm like that too. One major reason I'm focusing on this story is the fact that I have nothing else to do. :dreads the coming of school:

You were right about the heated emotions, and there's a bit more of that in this chapter. Grief, anger, outrage, suspicion… lovely, aren't they? And Clement is trying to redeem himself ((courtesy of the strict scrutiny of TrudiRose, of course :grins:)) and… will, ultimately, be forced to suffer for her. A test, yes. But will he pass it? I am torn between options (fail or succeed)… both are very tempting.

**Fireworksinmybackpocket** – I am very fond of this chapter, and my Writer's Block is fading away with the more I read. I still think Chapter 13 was a sort of personal disappointment to me, but I guess it isn't total crap. I just hope this Chapter makes up for it.

**Sleeping Wisher** – No pattern? Oh, but this entire chapter reveals most of the pattern, because it is in this chapter that she unravels the real purpose behind her task. The only thinking left for anyone at this point is how she'll make her escape, bringing along the endangered Lady Asca and (now that she knows too much) Corinne.

**Mellem** – You have truly demonstrated genuine possession of intellect by suspecting the brother, Lord Donte. But I will say no more about him at the Forenote – that is unwise. :grins: Poor Clement indeed, and things don't get any better for him until much later. Things get worse, and then they get better. It's the classic way of life. And thank you for your view on Eszti… it's precisely what I was aiming for.

**Vio Momen** – She has no other choice but to be cold, if you truly think about it. She's been kidnapped and asked to do a task that may lead to darker intentions on a helpless woman who has just been recently widowed. One shouldn't really expect her to show any sign of warmth towards her captors, especially since they do not even try to conceal their low opinion of her. And if you thought her cold before, you cannot have possibly imagined her reaction in this chapter at all.

I do admire the fact that you think she should've fought back, because it is true that it is not like her at all to just sit and take in what he said without any sort of major reaction. She was only trying to be patient, so that she'd remain clear of mind when she thinks of what to do next. But in this chapter all of that changes; in other words, Eszti cracks. Still, we all saw it coming, didn't we?

Lol, I'm being timed because my dad thinks I spend too much time on the Internet and too little time doing chores and things like that. When I have my own flat, it would be a Virgo's nightmare, truly, because although I am generally neat, I could care less when I'm caught up in my hobbies. And when I'm angry, I sit down and sing, and it helps. Music is another hobby of mine, and I enjoy it immensely.

Lol, not everyone hates her – she only has a very … peculiar (and unpleasant) reputation as a noblewoman. However, the tight circle of friends that she holds dear to her are loyal to her beyond bounds, as you know, but I will not deny that her reputation is mostly due to the fact that she doesn't care in the least how others view her. Because of this, she does as she pleases and doesn't make any sort of explanation or excuse for it at all. But as you pointed out, she is very, very, very unlucky, but her skill and personality outweighs that, don't you think? The pattern would most likely be a sort of… connection to the organizer of the plot and the people Eszti have met, but I suggest reading this chapter to understand that cryptic missive.

Thank you very much for the advice, and I will try the journal idea, as it is an exceptional idea. :grins: Thank you.

**TrudiRose** – Thank you, and I am feeling better, even if a little ill. This chapter is much longer, and much more happens, and it is in here that the majority of the plot is revealed. All the thinking left should be dedicated to wondering how Eszti would get herself out of the intrigue in which she was shoved into. Yes, Clement was certainly feeling remorseful, and I figured that if there had to be just one person he should go to for advice, it would be Elaine. How does she pull it off? It's actually a very tricky strategy, but she does it well – she has to prove herself as a friend and more than just a well-wisher, and the rest is in the chapter, of course.

**Tami** – Thank you very much :grins happily: And now that the Writer's Block faded away, I am feeling much better. Resting did work, actually, along with the aid of a cup of coffee, and here's the latest Chapter. I hope I don't disappoint anyone :chuckles weakly:

**Nebulia** – Whoa, whoa, relax, lol, the Writer's Block is gone now, but thank you anyway. Your support means the world to me, especially since right now my only world in writing and reading. :takes the dust: So this is why I've been having insomnia lately:raises an eyebrow: It works very well though; you should sell it in stores. You'd make a fortune.

o…o…o…o…o

**Chapter Fourteen: **

o…o…o…o…o

The night was dark – dark enough to intimidate. Perhaps I had been thinking irrationally. It was true that I had indeed walked far to the tavern, passing the manor as noiselessly as a shadow, but I had doubts when I reached the tavern entrance. I was apprehensive, yes, but not enough to back down. I would have no answers by turning back and making my way back to the manor, and that was all I needed left. Time, and answers, and then I could devise a plan.

I only had to be discreet, and generally I was good at that – but my stubborn side sometimes won over, just as it did tonight. I did indeed prove to be mad by just leaving Lady Asca's home without a word to Huvyl, without bothering to disguise my absence. Well, I was stupid to be so bold, but I learned from my mistakes.

Gingerly, I knocked twice on the door, wondering if I should request entry or just stride on in. A man shuffled to get it, from what I could hear, and a lock was unlatched before it came open. He was a big man, brawny and muscular, and he eyed me warily.

"A traveling maiden, are you?" he asked gruffly. I drew myself up slightly.

"You could say that. What does it take to come in?"

"Two legs, little lady, but one is always acceptable," he answered, laughing, dropping his suspicious demeanor and letting me in. I came in and found myself in the den and bar, where it was small and cozy and warm and full of drunken men. They took up most of the couches and seats in front of the fire, but there was a spare seat near the liquor counter, where two other men sat.

I marched up there with dignity, and found I had a few jingling coins of silver in my frock pocket. How lucky. _And I thought I came completely unprepared._

One man was horrifically drunk, consuming gulps of his pint between every two words or so. Another sat beside him looking tastefully bored. From what I could tell, he hadn't been dumping his face in liquor.

Perhaps he was conscious enough to provide me with answers. I stepped up to him and leaned against the counter with crossed arms, throwing my hair back and baring my neck. It seemed that the … less shy women found it easier to wheedle information from men, although it worked the other way around as well. Gehedrion was proof of that.

He raised an eyebrow and smirked. "And what would a pretty little lady like you be after, tossing your hair like that?"

"I'm visiting Merilian from Kione, and I have a few questions about the place. Mind if I inquire a little?" I said proudly, no trace of a suggestive smile on my face. I was all business now.

"Depends purely on the questions, obviously."

Quickly, I devised a story that could possibly excuse my nosiness in the affairs of Lady Asca and her late husband.

"I'm in search of employment," I lied airily. "As a cook. Not a tavern cook, mind, but a real cook. One who'd cook for those of a higher status. I've heard some months ago that a noble family lived near here. A baron, Lord –" for a second, I nearly panicked, trying to remember his name. _What was the man's name?_ "Ezril, I believe it was? The fellow wasn't very clear on pronunciation."

"Ozril," the man corrected politely. I nodded and went on.

"Yes, that. Can he provide work? I'm asking beforehand because I won't let myself finish my journey and find that he's got five cooks, and a scullery maid to boot."

The man looked surprised, amused. "You traveled from one huge country to another, just to find work as a cook?" he chuckled, sounding very unconvinced.

_All right,_ I thought grumpily, glaring and letting my hair cover my neck once more. _So maybe my story is a bit far-fetched. Humans are unstable, aren't they? Unstable, impossible, and flighty. Well, some are._

"Yes," I muttered angrily, "Is it my fault I felt the need to travel? Maybe I cannot return home to Kione, that I have nowhere else to go but for the one secure place that stranger recommended, do you think? Isn't that a possibility?"

"Of course it is, of course it is. No need to get so defensive, although I do confess you look quite striking when you do. Well, that stranger was a bit unreliable, miss. I wouldn't call it a "secure place". Lord Ozril is dead. Died from illness. Was a good man; his death was something to grieve for."

I faked a sharp intake of breath, and I stopped leaning, putting a hand to my mouth. Near-genuine sorrow filled my eyes. "Oh, I am so sorry. Such a shame, for a good man to leave his good woman widowed. It always is."

The man nodded solemnly. _So he can be solemn_, I thought. _What irony_. "I agree. And the poor Lady Asca has more to fear, I believe. So young, so very vulnerable, and without the protection of her older husband. He was eight years older than her, you know; their story is quite an unusual one."

But I was no longer listening; my mind swum. _And the poor Lady Asca has more to fear._

"Wait, wait – go back! Did you say she has 'more to fear'? Do you know of anything that may endanger her?" I asked, letting my mask of composure slip a little. He was alarmed that I got so violent so suddenly.

"What, do you know her?"

"Can you elaborate on that 'danger'? Please?"

And then, he smiled like a true rogue, like Clement. I pushed the whim away, knowing I needed to focus.

"Well," he said. "That in itself is a darker tale. Darker news. Not a thing to just blurt out to total strangers like a mute man just blessed with speech. I'm afraid this is as far as I go with interrogations."

But I knew he knew something I should know, and I would stop at nothing to find out. I pulled out my coins of silver and jammed them into his hand. "Take these," I insisted. "And buy yourself some ale. And then tell me. Please? I have to know. I must."

He stared at the silver in his palm, and with a cool face he handed them back. "I am not tempted by money. But rather, by skill." And he laughed at my perplexed look. "I am challenging you, girl! At archery. If you do well enough to suit me, I will tell you what you want to know. Or need to know, apparently."

My face must've reflected the horror I felt within, for he laughed again. And taking my wrist, he led me outside through the back, into the cool dark night. For the first time since I first spotted him, I noticed the bow and quiver that was slung over on his back.

I was terrible at archery. My aim was appalling. This man was asking for the impossible.

But I was not without wit. "I have no bow for myself," I said sourly. "Do you expect me to throw sticks instead? This is rubbish."

"What high words for a cook." And he tossed me a second bow, where it was tucked away by the shadows on the wall. I caught it, irritated, and wondered if I were strong enough to cut the string. Then he'd have no excuse, and I would.

He pulled out his own quiver, drew it onto his shoulder, withdrew an arrow, and aimed it at the tree past the tavern gate, not yet shooting. "You see that tree? That's our mark. It's an easy enough target, even for one so inept at archery such as a cook. Now watch."

And he slid his finger abruptly from holding the string, letting the arrow fly. It hit its mark perfectly, letting several leaves get shaken onto the ground.

"You see that? That's what we call a 'bulls eye'."

"Oh, I am not entirely stupid," I snapped impatiently, taking an arrow from his back and fumbling heatedly with my bow. I set my position and released the string, but the arrow flew into the road, possibly ten feet from its mark.

The man looked on the edge of laughter, but contained himself and said unexpectedly, "My name is Artor. I am an archer once employed in Arvette for the army, but I came here to Whitewhey in search of a friend. It's a shame I haven't yet found him."

_What's a shame,_ I thought with a set jaw, _is the fact that you travel city to city in search of a friend, and yet you've found none._

"I suppose that would be explained by the fact that his mother says he died a month ago. Drowned." A closed, fierce shadow flitted over his friendly face for a frightening moment, and I took back my thoughts immediately.

"I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be. It isn't as though you pushed him into the river, or anything. And now I will teach you true archery, and if you make a decent shot, I will tell you what endangers the Lady so."

I opened my mouth to utter a soft thanks, but the sounds of horse hooves distracted me. I heard yelling, and Artor and I turned to find two riders coming up to us. They were glaring at me, and stunned, I stared back, barely wanting to comprehend.

"You foolish little child," Yukael snapped, his stern face glaring down at me from atop his mount. "What are you doing out here, conversing with men in a tavern? Or perhaps, doing more than just conversing. I seem to have forgotten through all of your attempts at maturity that you're only sixteen. What an actress you truly are, Lady Evetti."

Artor was about to deny any … _extravagating_ when he heard my "title" and stared at me in shock. I looked back apologetically, and then shifted my gaze back at Yukael, glaring. "I was just having a bit of fun, Yukael. No need to throw a fit."

"Fun? _Fun?_ Evetti, _'fun'_ is being obedient and not straying from your uncles. That is this '_fun_' you speak of, the only fun you'll be having after this. And you nearly gave Huvyl a heart attack. Lord Donte explained everything, and we tracked you down. You leave deep footprints, little Evetti."

The second rider was, of course, my dear guard Gehedrion, who was looking so smug that I wanted nothing more than to slap him. Artor was looking very awkward and surprised, but he stiffened at the name of the lord. "Lord Donte?" he asked, his voice wary, and he snuck me a discreet glance of warning that the other two did not catch. Gehedrion and Yukael turned later on to stare at him, but I was wondering if that man had anything to do with the bandits. Surely not.

But no one would have dared to suspect him… and then things were beginning to fall into place. Corinne said Lady Asca did not inherit, and Lord Donte was her older brother… surely _he_ inherited instead. So then why the need for more money, for the money a dead baron would leave his sister? That, however, didn't fit in right.

But I was aware of one thing: if Lord Donte played any role in this scheme against Lady Asca, then she was in danger. And I was expected to bring it about.

_Marriage. Must result in marriage._

Gehedrion was coming down from his horse to put me atop it, but before I let him manage this I turned to Artor and said in a quavering voice, "We will meet again, Artor. Be sure of it. We have plenty to discuss. Tonight was a fine night."

_I must have these bandits think that there was some sort of … development tonight, so that they wouldn't think I've been snooping. _And it was working. Artor was looking quite outraged, Gehedrion was snorting in disgust, and Yukael was staring at me in disapproval.

_But why_, I questioned myself as I was forced away atop Gehedrion's horse. _Was Lord Donte so greedy a man that even after inheriting the gold his sister didn't, he'd come after the fortune her dead husband had left for her? And I thought him handsome!_

_Still_, I thought, _I might be wrong. I must keep an open mind. Open eyes, and a mind ready for any other lead._

I looked back just once, and Artor was striding away.

o…o…o…o…o

"You stupid girl! You stupid, stupid girl! What were you hoping to do, endanger our plan entirely? Arvette isn't so far that no one will journey to expose you, you know! And I'm sure more than one of us would be willing!" Yukael was shouting as I stomped into the manor. Corinne, who had been waiting for me with a bandit gripping her arm, was staring up at me, frightened.

"I needed some time to myself!" I shouted back, turning on my heel and fuming at Yukael till my face turned red. "I was feeling suffocated, and I thought some time out wouldn't hurt. But it did, didn't it? Because my enjoyment will surely bring all your deaths? Although I cannot deny that the thought of all of you being tortured is quite pleasant."

This time, it was Gehedrion who spoke, feeling the need to support Yukael. "Time to yourself? _Time to yourself_? Yourself, and your paramour, you mean! How easily you replace the Prince in your heart, I wonder! Although I am not surprised, you being the devil's slut you are, throwing yourself at any man willing to offer you a place in his bed! I cannot have you yelling at Yukael, trying to correct him when you know you are at fault."

Gehedrion hit home; he struck a nerve, stretched it until I felt something in my mind snap. He had no right to bring Clement into this, no right to assume I didn't love him as I did. Feeling the color from my face drain, I took a few steps forward and – unthinking – slapped him as hard as I could, watching my handprint glow white against his dark cheek. And it wasn't enough; I couldn't help myself. I lifted my hand again and brought it hard against his face, harder this time. I felt Yukael grab my arms and I heard Corinne cry out my name in panic, but I was absent right now. No longer present.

Instead, I stood in an empty world where only Gehedrion and I occupied its space, in a world where revenge was the only thing I wanted.

And then everything – everything I worked so hard to suppress deep inside, worked so hard to tell myself I could eventually get over – came flooding out, as I yelled and cursed at him, kicking and trying to free myself, so that I could give him the good death he deserved.

I would've killed him if I could.

_You had to have cracked sometime,_ the logical part of me thought with regret. _You can't always expect to be strong. Sometimes things get to be too much, and they pile up, and they attack you eventually. And you have to fall – else, you'd be a god._

I was weeping and cursing and yelling when Yukael dragged me away.

o…o…o…o…o

_It'd be so much easier if I were truly insane_, I thought irresistibly, staring around my locked chamber. _No one would think me sharp enough to fulfill any devious plots, no one would ever fall in love with me, no one would ever ask me to play a noblewoman, no one would expect me to wait weeks to go home. It wasn't fair._

I wasn't insane; I was aware of that much. And no one was fooled either. They just thought me very ill-tempered, and close to despairing, if not insane. _But it's_ _close enough_.

The locked door to my chamber was unlocked, opened, and revealed Yukael and another bandit coming in slow procession, carrying a quietly sobbing Corinne in tow. Dumbfounded, I looked from Yukael to the bandit, and then watched Corinne with concern. _Why was she crying_, I thought desperately. _Why is no one coming to her aid?_

Yukael was the first to crack the frosty silence. "We've thought up a few more terms for you," he said in a tight voice. Tight with anger. "No one here can think it fair that you go on being treated like a noble under this roof, and so we've decided that you won't." At my skeptical expression, he pressed on. "Under this roof, you'll be a servant, watched constantly, kept at a reasonable distance from every one of us. You'll only resume your Evetti mask when past this threshold, or in the presence of anyone who doesn't live here. When not doing chores, you'll be in this room – alone, of course. But if you do call for Miss Corinne here, we'll bring her over. You can also see her during servant duties."

But I was irritated, angry at the fact that they brushed aside her crying as if it did not matter at all. "She's weeping, and I'd like to know why. What have you done to her?"

"Oh, nothing physical, if that's what you think. Everything was verbal. We didn't lie; we told her what would become of her if she didn't help us in keeping you in line, and we told her that she'd share in the consequences if your task failed." Yukael shared a meaningful look with the other bandit, who shook Corinne slightly.

Corinne looked up and begged for forgiveness with her eyes, but mine told her that there was nothing she had done that I had to forgive. Everything was _their_ fault.

I thought myself with so many choices before, but now they were limited drastically; Corinne's life was beginning to be another that hung in the balance as well. I had no choice. If I didn't carry on like I was truly going to complete my task, Corinne would get hurt – and I couldn't allow that. But if I did complete the task, it was almost certain that Lady Asca would get hurt. And I would probably suffer both ways, because if I did complete the task, they surely wouldn't let me survive – I would've known too much.

I bit my lip. Well, here I was – trapped between options. So if I didn't like either choice, I'd have to plan behind their backs. I'll make my own solution, and I'll let no one who doesn't deserve it suffer. No one would take advantage of me like this, or of anyone I held dear to me, or of anyone else who didn't deserve it.

I'd have to be careful.

Faking a look of meek submission, I stared at Yukael bleakly and looked over at the trembling Corinne again, and I drew a ragged breath. "Just don't hurt her. Promise me that, or we have no deal. I want no one to suffer because…" I broke off, but carried on valiantly. "Because of me. Is that understood?"

The other bandit laughed, let go of Corinne who immediately scuttled to stand by me – _what **had **they done to her _– and together we watched the two bandits leave the room. But before Yukael locked the door, he turned and stared directly at Corinne. "When next we come in here, you'll come with us," he ordered curtly, and it was then that he truly left.

There was silence for a moment or two, but it was broken by a sob from Corinne.

"Oh, Rozenta, I'm so sorry, but they – they hurt me, and threatened to torture me and kill me if I didn't – if I didn't cooperate… it's so unfair that they would treat you like that – they have no right – they're crooks, all of them – it was good of you to slap Gehedrion like that. He deserved it." She sniffed slightly.

I had to smile at that. "I felt so… free, when I gave Gehedrion what he deserved. My patience is only so stretched. But don't worry, Corinne – I'll find out what it is they're trying to do, what they're planning, and what role Lord Donte plays in this. And then they'll face justice – the whole lot of them."

But Corinne was looking at me in puzzlement. "Lord Donte? But I thought he was out traveling. At least, that's what the bandits say he's been doing."

I paused. "Corinne," I implored softly. "Who is the owner of this manor?"

Corinne paused as well – still adapting to being my new source of information, I guessed – but answered warily. "Lord Donte, older brother to Lady Asca. I am sorry I did not tell you this earlier, but I was still scared. But I would've told you the truth, had you asked the right question."

_The right question! Oh, **how** could I have missed it?_ And my thoughts raced again; the danger to Lady Asca was right within her home, and she didn't suspect a thing! Everything was making sense now… the tales of the nobleman's traveling and his prolonged absence… and it seemed that even stealing the family inheritance from his younger sister didn't satisfy him. Now he was after the fortune of her dead husband.

I was certain that he was behind everything because he would have no other reason to lie about his whereabouts, especially to his entire household, and why else would he lend his _manor_ to bandits?

Had I still been so naïve and stupid, I would've actually gone up to the bandits, proclaimed that I discovered their plot, and run off to play heroine, but I had learned. Learned to think, learned that death and death to those dear to me was not worth the glory of triumph, learned that careful speculation was usually essential to executing a risky plan.

So, instead, I sat in silence for a bit and let a plan put itself together in my mind.

"Corinne, I think I know exactly what your lord has been doing."

o…o…o…o…o

When I awoke in the morning, I was as silent as stone, but as dutiful as a servant loyal to his master. I worked alongside Corinne, who guided me and taught me the correct way to carry out chores, and we spent the entire day cleaning. I was introduced to the other servants, and being given the same chores as Corinne, I was mercifully always among company.

And I knew without a doubt that the bandits were at a loss to my sudden obedience, even if some – such as Gehedrion – were so arrogant as to be convinced that I had truly bent to their will.

So in the afternoon, Corinne helped me to freshen up and to choose a dress – seafoam green and soft – that would be appropriate for a visit to Lady Asca's.

"Rozenta," Yukael had said to me before I left the house, "If you even _think_ of trying anything that would jeopardize our plans, we will have your precious hand-maid slaughtered before your very eyes, so you may see exactly how it will be done for you. And don't think your precious Prince will know immediately that we'd taken your life, for we have more connections that you may think."

Connections. Certainly.

And Huvyl and I left to visit the Lady again, and when we met up with Elberto, he explained that Lady Asca was feeling well enough for company. Especially company she had already been impressed with. At this, I snuck a glance at Huvyl, who was looking smug.

Lord Donte was quite pleased with my presence – or so it seemed. Perhaps he just occupied me to monitor my every move. I had no doubt that he knew my purpose for being here.

"Ah, so you've decided to come back," he said, inviting me to sit beside him with a grand gesture of his hand. _Play along_. And I did.

"I couldn't very well stay away, now could I?"

"I expected no different."

I brought the topic to his sister. "And when will Lady Asca come down to greet us? I'd like to give my condolences directly, if you don't mind."

"Not at all, not at all. She will be down soon; she is simply dressing. You know how much time you women insist on spending when it comes down to get ready for anything. It is always worth it in the end, though," he said charmingly, eyeing me up and down. I promised myself that if I didn't sick up on him at that moment, I would have nothing else to prove to myself.

But he did know how to flirt.

"I suspect that was a compliment, yes?" My own response surprised me.

"Perhaps."

But I was saved – oh, _mercy_ – from answering when Lady Asca came down the stairs. I had heard from Corinne that she was only twenty, but from what I could see she actually looked worn and weary. She was as pretty as her brother was handsome, and both were tall and thin, but there were distinct differences – he had dark hair while hers was clearly auburn and it came down straight and silky rather than in thick curls, and her features were very delicate and feminine. Her expression was tragically beautiful, with her sad, liquid brown eyes and her unmoving, pale lips. I could tell she had been a true beauty when she was happier, but her husband's death impacted her immensely.

Her gaze sharpened as she came down the stairs, Huvyl close behind. She looked at me, and at Donte, and her eyes sent him a silent question.

"This is Lady Asca, cousin of Lord Huvyl, come to send her condolences," he explained eagerly. "You should speak with her. You two would be fast friends."

_How can he speak thus, barely knowing me at all?_

Lady Asca did not seem enthusiastic at all to meet another sympathizer; her expression clearly read, _"Not again. Why won't everyone just leave me be?"_ But I had a task to do, and a plan of my own to accomplish.

"Lady Asca!" I exclaimed with exaggerated exuberance. She stared at me in surprise. "It is good that you are well. Very good. You have met my cousin, I presume? Do you get along well?"

"Fairly." Her tones were dispassionate, but they sounded silver all the same.

"Oh, that is good. Would you come down with me for tea?" And Lord Donte was about to speak again – probably to fuss – but she waved it off with annoyance, as though she didn't want to hear any more of it. She motioned to Elberto to bring tea, and she took a reluctant seat by me. Her eyes studied me, and I could see that due to recent events, they had lost their youth.

I took a sip of my tea; it was practically sugarless. A less mature version of me would've wrinkled her nose distastefully. "I send my condolences for your loss. Although I didn't know him, I am aware that his departure was quite dire. My cousin and I hope you will manage efficiently – are you sure you two get along well?"

She didn't take any drink or food, but just continued watching me with growing suspicion. "Yes, I'm quite sure. He agrees with nearly everything I say, but tries to be charming. But charm doesn't appeal to odd women like me; let him know that. I am not willing to entertain any suitors at the moment, for the most obvious reasons. So. Now that you've sent your condolences; is there anything else you must say?"

_This woman was nothing like what I had expected, but I couldn't expect a just-widowed noblewoman to be any warmer than this._

"That I wish he'd only leave you alone, but he is too fond of you. Won't shut up about you either, if I may say so. I wouldn't be here had he not dragged me along. Says he needs a woman in his life, needs to settle and establish his property and land with a lady and heir. Very selfish of him, but he's a businessman. I just thought I'd warn you." _Gain her trust first. Then coat Huvyl's name with sugar._

The first sign of interest flitted across her face. "You speak oddly. As though you find sophisticated speech tiring. That is good. I'd like to try that – to speak in fragments, that is – but I am watched constantly, and so much is expected from me. They think me too odd already, but I try not to care what they think." She was trying to go on as though her husband's death didn't happen… trying to convince herself she was strong enough to overcome it. Anyone with just the slightest pinch of sense could see that. _She'll crack one day_, I thought sadly, knowing she didn't deserve it. She proved herself a strong woman, not just breaking down and crying her beloved's name repeatedly at the feet of a guest.

And the first sincere feeling emerged within me, warming my crisp tone a little. "There is no need to pretend everything's all right," I warned her softly, trying to be as gentle as can be with a brash personality such as mine. "I know you are masking pain right now. But if you bottle everything like this, you'll crack and face the unpleasant consequences." I grimaced a little, to show her I was speaking from experience. "I am not someone who will judge you as the others do; I have known my fair share of hardships. I have come with more than sympathy – I have come with a will to help. Perhaps if you… if you cry a little and weaken your resolve to prove your strength… then maybe you'll get over it, little by little. I expect nothing from you but sheer honesty, and you are not showing it."

I felt so ashamed, using my talent with words to support a lie. That was heinous, but I had to go through with at least gaining her trust first if I wanted to at least bring about my… idea.

There was a quick show of emotions in her face, going from forced calmness to shock, then to relief and gratitude, but then to sharp anger. "What would you know?" she spat, probably furious at the fact that I was speaking as though I could understand her, when in the world of grief one automatically assumed no one could. Understand, that is. "How can you talk to me like that, when you know the pain is so fresh? Have you no consideration?"

"There is no true healing without a bit of suffering along the way," I quoted wisely, thinking of a physician.

And the first signs of success made itself known to me; the brightening of her eyes, some liquid threatening to fall, and the Lady putting a hand to her eye, obviously trying to fight the impulse. She stood abruptly, glaring at me.

"I am fully healed; I am fully recovered. I am strong enough to carry this burden _alone_, thank you. No help needed; not from you, or from your clingy cousin, or from my nuisance of a brother. He never cared much about me before, but obviously he's got a change of heart. Don't you want to leave?"

"You're lying to yourself. You miss him; you love him. Why dishonor his death by pretending as though it didn't affect you strongly, denying what you know you feel inside?" Oh, but Lord Ozril was probably spinning in his grave, knowing I was merely deceiving her.

"Sto – stop it! You have no right! Don't talk to me like this." But she was too busy brushing away tears to really raise her voice. I pushed on, feeling more than cruel and more than ashamed. I tried to be a little more gentle.

"I'm truly sorry I have to talk to you like this, but you shouldn't lie to yourself. I'm only trying to help you; I can see when a grieving woman is going about things wrongly. It pains me when I see someone in grieving hurt themselves unintentionally. At least grieve properly." All right. So maybe that last part didn't come out as soothing as I now wished it did.

She had finally fallen silent, but I saw her clutch at the wall as she felt her knees buckle slightly. I pulled her firmly down and made her sit, and still the hard-headed woman said nothing. And she was letting the tears fall; slowly, at first, but then faster and faster, and more full with pain, rapid and racing like a stream.

"He died in pain, you know," she finally said, in a hoarse whisper. My heart went out to the poor dear instantly. "Trying t – to say my name, but coughing. Oh my God." And then she hid her face in her hands, arching down and resting her forehead on her knees, crying softly. During these times, people would pat the weepers reassuringly on the shoulder, but that hardly seemed appropriate now. She'd probably bite my hand off.

So I sat patiently, watching her with concerned eyes, waiting for her to put herself together. Elberto, Donte, and Huvyl came in once or twice and were outraged to see her crying, but I shushed them and ushered them away like a protective nanny nursing a traumatized child.

_A painful strategy to proving one is "honest", _I thought, flinching at my own cruelty. _But effective nonetheless. And it was all I could think of here. Oh, she'd hate me for this, if only she knew. But I have something to accomplish, and I won't let any emotional weakness stop me. She'll thank me in the end._

But it was all for the better, for what I had said was true: every word. She couldn't just harbor everything inside of her like that, and although I had been pushy, it was the only way to get her to succumb. She was unbelievably good at holding her ground.

Eventually, her tears came to an end, and she found herself again. Sitting straighter and brushing her hands across her damp cheeks, she studied me calculatingly. "Who exactly are you, Lady Evetti? You manipulate well; I cannot think of anyone else who could bring me to tears like that. But you are right; you are right. I was being foolish, thinking I was godly enough to pass off his death with a shrug. You brought me to my senses; thank you. But I still distrust you, you know," she said with the slightest curl to her lip.

"Oh, I know."

"Your attitude was too good to be true; I thought instantly that you must want something from me. It's rare for a person to just offer help, advice, assistance," she sniffled delicately. "Especially in the noble's world of intrigue and deception." She paused. "I don't know what it is about you, or what it is you said to me, but I suddenly have some sort of inkling that you may be someone to trust."

_Oh, was she terribly mistaken._

"I don't know why I'm inclined to … talk to you, to befriend you," she continued in more affable tones, "but maybe it is because you are the only person so far who has bothered to really help me. Everyone else has only sympathy to share, but no real will to help."

I was actually at a loss for words. My heart was torn between shame and mild pride.

_Focus. Focus. Focus at the task at hand._ Tentatively, I wondered how to phrase the question, and soon I let it slip out. "Lady Asca, would you tell no one if I said you were in some… mild, indirect danger?" But she didn't answer, for the door had opened to reveal Lord Donte and Huvyl.

"It's late. Lady Asca is still ill and I'm afraid we cannot afford to have visitors for dinner. Perhaps another time. Ah…" Lord Donte added, looking pleased that his sister and I were conversing like friends and that she was looking much better. But it was more the former than the latter, probably.

Seeing him sent off danger bells in my head. Lady Asca and I couldn't discuss any potential "schemes" when he was in the range of hearing. Hurrying up quickly and smoothing my skirts, I nodded apologetically to my new friend. "I have to go. It is late. I am needed at home. I will try to visit tomorrow, if my schedule allows. Goodbye, friend."

And Huvyl and Lord Donte followed me out of the manor, looking smug. I still hadn't seen Lady Asca's expression.

o…o…o…o…o

It might've been a lie, saying that I had a schedule, but I did have things to do. A plot to continue unraveling, a conversation to have with Corinne, a fake letter to think up, a plan to theoretically perfect, and a long night's vigil to keep me thinking.

o…o…o…o…o

**Afterthoughts:** For the first time in a long time, I have actually satisfied myself. I actually like this chapter. A lot. More so than the rest. Shocker, I agree. Much has been unraveled, and a great deal of plot has been put into action, although more smoothly done than in Chapter 13. Oh yes, I redeemed myself in my own eyes with this chapter. Chapter 13 – to me – was a nightmare to write.

If anyone has noticed, I had been trying in past days to shorten events – especially conversations. I had always envied those that knew how to do it, and still write so eloquently. As for myself, I tend to digress but I later find myself very reluctant to cut out anything. I had practically cut the beginning of Chapter 13 ((the short sequence with Elaine and Clement)) _bald_, and still I think it's a big long. And I actually had a LOT more to the conversation here between Lady Asca and Eszti ((more than 75 of the conversation, probably)) but I cut it out, thinking it unimportant. It was merely the tale of the romance between Ozril and Asca, but if anybody would like to see it ((I am rather proud of it, and I'm saving the excerpt in another file :sulks stubbornly:)) I have it available. All it takes is a request, and an email address. But if you don't, I understand. I know the version of the conversation I have provided here is still very long, and plenty others may have other things to do than just read.

That said, I actually find I am improving as a writer in the sense that I am learning to avoid digressing. It may be odd for any past reader of mine to see me write so… briefly, but believe me, when you adapt to it you'll find it a grand improvement.

I know this session of 'afterthoughts' is a total contradiction to my conviction of speaking briefly, but this will probably be the longest note I leave to any of you. So appreciate it.

And on I go to write out Chapter 15, which is the fast-paced unfolding of Eszti's mysterious plan. Keep an eye out for it.

**P.S.** – Even if it looks like you'll never see ((read of, actually)) Artor again, don't you dare forget him.


	15. Your Grudgingly Obliging Friend, Asca

**Forenote:** Ah, so we are reaching a resolution - finally. I don't have too much time to write this, so forgive me if it's not as impeccable in comparison to past Chapters (with the exception of Chapter 13), but I'll try. 10 reviews for this Chapter ((:chuckles as readers groan:)) and Chapter 16 is as good as up.

**Responses:**

No time... will apologize later... :goes into a sneezing fit:

o…o…o…o…o

**Chapter Fifteen: Your Grudgingly Obliging Friend, Asca**

o…o…o…o…o

"Even the very best of doctors and magicians - what kind of illness is this, exactly?" one of the acolytes that were taken along with the rest of the search party asked quietly, gravely. He shot a few furtive glances at his Prince, who was lying in bed and staring at the ceiling in remorse.

"We cannot call it an illness," the magician - who was sent by the King and Queen of Merilian with a few more physicians to ride to the Prince's aid - corrected solemnly. "It is not an ailment, precisely, but rather an effect of..." he broke off here, and then whispered swiftly, "Of poisoning. My fellow physicians and I cannot do more than what we have tried so far. It was a very rare poison made with the meadow red vine, which is very difficult to obtain and in turn very difficult to counter."

But the acolyte had his mouth agape, staring wildly at the magician as though what he suggested was absolutely ludicrous. "Poisoning? On the _Prince_ himself? Oh, but that is impossible! My dear magician - we could be beheaded in a heartbeat by merely speaking of it! How...!"

"It is not so difficult for anyone with direct access to the royal family, maybe a servant..." wondered the magician. "I only beg that you send word of this - confidentially, I must add - to the King and Queen, and that they keep it quiet. A silent investigation would make it easier to find the culprit, when the he or she least expects it. But, honestly... the poison has been in the Prince's system far too long to be cured so easily now. And we don't have all of our equipment - we merely rode here a day ago."

"The King and Queen will bloody us for simply suggesting it!"

"Oh, stop being so nonsensical," snapped the magician, waving an impatient hand. "They're sensible people. Just do as I say, and if you don't..." and he nodded his head once and walked out of the tent stiffly. Seconds after the magician had made his exit, Clement stirred again.

"Samuel? What did the magician say?" Clement asked suddenly, his voice sounding unusually grating. The acolyte glanced at Clement and shrugged, struggling to pass off as 'casual'. He fixed up a sleeping draught, avoiding his Prince's eye and determined to keep the Prince from knowing his low chances of living.

"I did not quite understand him, your Majesty, but you are ill. Very ill. I am afraid that no one can risk allowing you to continue the search with the rest of your troop - your illness cannot risk that, and we cannot risk so much. You do understand, your Highness?"

There was silence from Clement, and then he gave a cold sickly laugh, trying to sit up in bed. The acolyte obstinately pushed him back into it. "Do you expect me to?" Clement asked, sitting up again. "I am afraid no illness - simple or deadly - will stop me from finishing what I set out to do. I will go as far as any other troop member, and farther. Lady Rozenta needs me, and that is all the reason I need. I'd like to understand, Samuel my friend, but I cannot if it means abandoning my men and the Lady Rozenta. I stay with my troop."

"Your Highness, you are more ill than you perceive -"

"That matters not. All that matters is bringing the Lady back, alive and safe and healthy and with all our troop members intact," Clement said firmly. His tone was enough to command silence. The acolyte frowned, but did not look at him.

"Thank you, Samuel." Clement shivered, and let out a ragged, shuddering breath. "Gods, it is cold north of Arvette, and my head is starting to ache. You do not mind making the sleep draught?" And he sat back in bed, rubbing his forehead and falling limp against his pillows.

Samuel knew that Clement's shivering had nothing to do with the cold, but said nothing. Clement would find out later that the situation was more serious than he guessed, and that he'd be better off riding back to Arvette where he could be properly tended to. He was poisoned strong enough to be killed, but he did become fatally ill as a result of the red vine. Samuel began softly crushing green softpods with a heavy stone, being careful to not waste any of the juice. "Of course I do not mind making the draught. It'll be done in an hour, Sire."

Samuel paused, and decided to push his luck.

"If I wouldn't be too bold to ask, your Highness... let's say this ailment gets out of our control. And honestly, the situation is serious enough already. Would you really insist on continuing your participation in her rescue if you discovered you were doomed to death? Would you really throw away your life so brashly?"

And Clement suddenly spoke angrily, enraged by Samuel's idea that he would be 'throwing away his life'. "Samuel, if that means I have to die for her, I would. I am still amazed that anyone would need to ask that question."

"But Sire, I cannot pretend that there are no great chances of death, and you shouldn't either - "

"Samuel." And Clement decided to soften his voice a bit, knowing the acolyte only meant the best for his health and welfare. "I am no fool. I know there is much you physicians are not telling me, that I could possibly be, as you say, 'doomed to death.' Why else would the magician speak to you in private? Because I am going to be fine the next day? No. Samuel, there is no difference. I will not let Lady Rozenta down. I would prefer to die searching for her and possibly seeing her again than to die cozily in bed while she could be out there, starving and hunted."

Samuel stared at his Prince, and saw the determination and defiance in the weary and ill features of his face. Pride on having such a monarch welled up in his chest, and he nodded. "Yes, Sire. I understand. I shouldn't have doubted you."

"You didn't, Samuel. You only care. There is nothing wrong with that. Now," Clement said, sitting up and steadying himself by clutching his pillow. "The rest of the troop is going to ride around the outskirts of Vainbrook for any leads. I will be joining them. Can you ready Aeolus for me, my acolyte?"

"Of course, your Highness." And Samuel finished the sleep draught and darted out of the tent without anything else to say.

o...o...o...o...o

**Eszti**

"Maybe you should slant your hand a little," I suggested, bringing the sheaf of parchment up to my eyes and examining the letters with meticulous scrutiny, wondering at the cook's forgery skills. She was actually very good; according to her, she had been the cook of an intelligent scholar who was kind enough to teach her to read and write like a courtier. Corinne insisted that it was safe to trust her with the bandit's conspiracy and my countering plan, so there were no worries there.

"And it would be smart to include some grand curls to the letters." I glanced up to see Cook Vera's incredulous, confused expression. I laughed a little.

"Well, Vera, she is a noblewoman, and they tend to write as such, with all the unnecessary grandeur and flourishes. Or - at least - it'd be more believable, don't you think?"

Cook Vera shrugged and traced over the letters again, being a little more lacy with the text. I continued dictating the words, being as careful as I could be.

The letter was done in a matter of fifteen more minutes, in which I read and reread the letter constantly. When Corinne came into Cook Vera's quarters an hour before midday, I handed it to her with careful directions and watched her go outside through the back door, come back into manor through the front manor entrance, and confront Yukael, who was having his midday meal in the dining room. I spied around the corner and positioned myself where I could hear them and still keep out of sight.

Corinne was saying imploringly, "Master Yukael, Lady Asca just stopped by when I went outside to visit the stables. She came with a letter for Rozenta - but I suppose you'll want to see it first?" _My, but these servants are talented_, I thought in extreme amusement. _The cook can forge a noblewoman's hand and the housemaid can act on the spot._

Yukael spoke, and his delighted surprise was evident. "Oh? Yes, you are right - I would very much like to read it first. So there's already been a correspondence between Lady Asca and Rozenta then?"

"You didn't know, milord? Lady Asca and Rozenta have been sending them back and forth with servants, even for just these two days! Well, Lady Asca sent this one outside herself with a grave face, and I thought you should see it. I am too simple to know much, but perhaps that would mean it to be important."

Yukael took the letter with an impressed look and opened it eagerly, ruthlessly breaking through the red wax seal Cook Vera had insisted on adding. He read for a moment, and in my mind's eye I visualized the delicate, curling words:

_Evetti, my dear friend,_

_I have thought about your suggestion relentlessly since it was proposed in your last letter. You remember I had been angry with you, for daring to ask such a thing? I am sorry. I was merely distressed. I have been so for many a day, and you should know why. I am hoping for another visit from you, so that we may discuss this matter more thoroughly, but I will be as clear as I can in this one letter._

_You say that this is completely up to me, but you defend your idea so well that I cannot see any other reasonable choice. You are right. I am very vulnerable at the moment, and reluctant though I am to believe it, I need someone capable of taking care of me - and I guess your cousin can do that. I marry for love; I always had. I will not lie to you: I do not love Lord Huvyl, but you two make it very clear that being his wife would protect me well. As you say, he has connections to the Royal Family, and in their country what better protection could there be? I have no substantial work and source of income, and as he puts it he does. I am very reluctant, but it seems you will not leave me alone until my choice is made._

_Understand that I will give him no heir, and that we will be friends and nothing more. If he would like an heir, there are many orphanages out there with children that would rather like to be heirs to nice fortunes. I am telling you now that I submit to your very undeniable logic: it would indeed be best for me to marry. And since his offer seems to be the best, to Lord Huvyl. Come to my home and we can go over some minor complications and wedding details. Do not bring your charming cousin (or anyone, for that matter), for it would be best that we keep the news to ourselves until everything is entirely planned out. I have one condition: Huvyl and I shall have no honeymoon._

_Your grudgingly obliging friend,_

_Asca_

Disbelief spread itself over Yukael's face like an unfolding fan, and his eyes seemed so wide that they looked as though they were ready to fall out of his face. He raised his eyebrows, seemed to skim the letter again, and let out a chuckle. "Goodness," he said. "She wasted no time; plunged right into the question, now did she? Reluctant though I am to admit it, she did well. It is either that or Huvyl's future wife isn't as strong-minded as we imagined. Send Rozenta here, please. I'd like to give my thanks to her personally."

Corinne bobbed down in a quick curtsey and turned the corner, lingering out of his sight to make it seem as though she truly was sending for me. She stared at me in delight, bit her lip excitedly, and stepped around to fake footsteps. Then together we made our way into the dining room, Corinne with her expression blank and mine looking rather perplexed.

"Yukael," I asked, staring at the letter in his hand. "You have my next letter from Lady Asca. What makes you believe you have the right to read it? I daresay it is none of your business."

"Well, you mule, if you read it you shall find that everything about it is," he laughed triumphantly, handing it to me. I threw him a genuine glare and read over it, my mind reeling. _How easy he is to fool. It seems that he isn't openminded enough to suspect anything outside of what he wants to hear._

When I was done, I gasped and stared at him, slow happiness drawing over my face. False happiness, of course. "She'll marry him. I can't believe it; I've done it! I'm free! See, Yukael, you have to free me now! I've completed my task!"

_Or did I?_ I thought, wanting so much to smirk.

His lips thinned into a frown, and he gave me a long, cold look. "I do not think you can be freed just yet. When the wedding is over, but not before."

Now my frustration was genuine. "What! You gave your word! I have assured a marriage, and I have done even better than Huvyl! I do not know why I am putting faith in your word right now, but you should prove your worth and honor! At least give me a horse, map, and decent rations, if not an escort."

Yukael shook his head, his lips thin. "I am afraid I cannot do that. You are to stay here until our plan has been carried out."

"I have no other reason to stay."

"And when you reach Arvette? What then? You will speak of our plan, report us, and leave us to be hung by your precious Prince? Do you really believe us stupid?"

I stared at him, furious. _But why did I even bother to try? It would be better if I just worked with my alternative plan._

"I believed maybe even you bandits would have the least bit of honour."

"Oh, you know that isn't true. You only believed in a fool's hope. Now go and dress; you will be going to Lady Asca's residence to confirm that wedding." He stood and looked ready to leave the dining room. I racked my mind, trying to remember the preset excuse through which I could bring Corinne. I would not be escaping without her.

"Wait! I need to bring a cake; I mentioned once to Lady Asca that if she did submit to my reasoning and if she did consent to marry Huvyl I'd give her a cake, and she made it a promise. It'd be unwise to pretend our friendship was _only for the marriage_," I added coldly, making the last statement as pointed as possible.

"That is ridiculous, Rozenta."

"Oh, but it is true. And it must be a big cake - a cake that may possibly even require more than two carriers. Perhaps Cook Vera, Gehedrion, or Corinne? But I doubt Gehedrion should come; it'd be suspicious, and she did request my audience alone. Servants couldn't count."

The elderly bandit turned on his heel and stared at me as though I were nothing more than a precocious, spoiled toddler who harbored not an ounce of sense. Then he sighed in what I guessed was grumbling resignation.

"Cook Vera is in the middle of cooking our supper, and possibly she'll be baking your cake. Bring Corinne instead to carry this absurd idea of a wedding gift. Corinne," he turned to the shorter girl. "Send word to Cook Vera. Request a ... a cake. Of notable size. Would it take her long?"

"Not at all, sir," she replied, dipping into a neat little curtsey. I knew what she was thinking: the cake was already ready, just in case I would not get permission to leave immediately and we'd have to resort to this second plan. "I'll hurry. Miss Rozenta claims she can dress faster alone." And she sped off, probably smiling the instant she turned the corner. The old man turned to me again.

"Go, you ridiculous girl. You haven't got all day."

I mocked a curtsey and hurried to my bedroom, where I had lain out the dress I had already chosen.

o...o...o...o...o...o

"Explain your plan to me again, please," Corinne grumbled, struggling to help me bring the weight of the sweet cake an hour later. "It is beginning to sound more complicated than it did at first, before we started to bring it about."

"We've already got half of it completed. Tricking Yukael was the most important factor." I shifted my grip and continued concentrating on steadying my steps backwards as we scuttled towards Lady Asca's manor. "With the letter I thought I might've gotten permission to leave - I figured I'd smuggle you along somehow - but they won't oblige. So now we're just going to escape on our own. We are going to Lady Asca's home to drag her forcibly with us - I should convince her, I'll think on it later - and to find a map, some good rations, and good horses. We may be forced to ride all the way to Arvette, where I can get Clem- er, Prince Clement to finish the job of ridding Merilian of those thieves. We have to be quick. Gehedrion may be standing guard outside your master's manor, and may see us. We'll have no choice but to run for it."

I thought for a moment and tried not to wobble when I felt a rock right behind my foot. "You can ride, can't you Corinne?"

"Not well. But I'm capable."

"Good. We will be doing plenty."

Some grueling minutes later, we made it. We tricked Elbert into accepting the cake as a token of treating the servants of newly made friends, pretending it was Kionean tradition. Out of breath, we found Lady Asca - most conveniently - lingering in the stables. She was petting a horse; when she heard our footsteps crunch forward, she glanced up sharply, surprised.

"Lady Evetti? What are you doing here? Come calling already?"

Before I could force out a word, Corinne had regained breath and choked out, "YOU'RE IN DANGER" before anything else could be said. I settled for nodded vigorously and checking to see that we were alone.

She froze, her hand stopping in mid-stroke. "What?"

I took up the story. "Your fortune - bandits want it. We want to help - please, just trust us. You must leave Whitewhey immediately and seek refudge in Arvette - I can provide security -"

She stared at us incomprehendingly. Oh, but she was stubborn. This complicated things.

"My fortune? You mean, Ozril's fortune? Bandits? How do you know this? What game do you think you play?"

"You have no other choice but to trust us right now, unless you want to be robbed _and _killed, as a bonus. Can you only just cooperate? This is a serious matter, and we play no games now. Lord Huvyl - don't marry him, don't trust him. He is not my cousin. He is one of the bandits; he is one of those after your money and possibly your life. They are holding myself and Corinne hostage. We had to pretend to go along with their scheme to stay alive," I decided to embellish a little. But it was no grand exaggeration.

Her eyes bulged. "Ludicrous!" she breathed, her brow furrowing.

"I wish it was. Oh, but we haven't much time. We need horses, bountiful rations, and a map - we'll all be traveling to Whitewhey together. We have to hurry, all be damned!" I added crudely, my tone rising a pitch. We had to be gone quickly, while Yukael would still be convinced we were only paying that "short visit."

Lady Asca clenched her slackening jaw. Even if her features started to soften - indicating that she was starting to believe it - she did not want it to show. "So you think I believe you? Prove it."

Corinne sobbed a little and resolved to make herself useful by hitching up three horses. I couldn't stop an impatient sigh.

"My name is not Lady Evetti. I am truly Lady Rozenta, Elysian ambassador and guest of Prince Clement himself. We are very close friends. I ended up here only due to kidnapping, which is - needless to say - courtesy of those bandits. I can assure you will be under the best protection Merilian can offer, so long as you cooperate. My hand-maid and I are trying to escape and save your life in the process. All it takes is a little trust, riding and survival skills, the proper supplies, and the ability to avoid enemies. Your life is on the line, as well as ours. Your life was threatened before ours were. You are in the most danger."

Her jaw slacked at my name. "You are the Lady Rozenta? The tailor told me all about you! You are that enchantress who managed to pull the Prince to cater to her every whim and ended up kidnapped by bandits! Gods, are you really her?"

"Of course I am," I snapped. "And I am so flattered that your tailor thinks so highly of me, but we really must be going. Can you trust us now?" I stopped myself from adding that her brother was in on the conspiracy, for if I did there was no way she would believe us then.

"Erm..." she looked uncertain, but she was starting to get up. "I'm still very doubtful. You are a very good liar, you know... I would've never thought you could be she. But your story fits, and so did the description."

"You never even knew her! And I am not lying now."

"At least let me tell my brother and what he thinks of all this," she insisted, truly getting up and making to get into the house again. Panicked, Corinne and I threw out our arms and gripped her elbow to stop her.

"No! No one must know! And we've no time; we must go now!"

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I cannot even tell my own brother that I am traveling? Do the both of you really take me for a fool?"

"Just get on!" Corinne snarled, forcing her to a horse. Lady Asca gasped, but actually stayed atop it.

"I'd like a bit of adventure in my life," Lady Asca said, starting to smile. "If you two mean me harm, I could have you straightened out and punished without any help. But you two can't possibly be lying right now. You really do seem like the Lady Rozenta, after all."

Corinne looked at me, a wild gleam in her eyes. "Rations! A map! I shall go get them!" She hurried into the manor to find them, but an idea suddenly struck me. I knew a place where I could get them, and the place was merely on our way. I wanted to point this out to Corinne, but she was already gone.

Setting the idea aside, I focused on choosing a horse, saddling it, and mounting it. I took the reins in my grip and glanced at Lady Asca, who was staring at me.

"I do not believe you are lying," she said, as though trying to convince herself. "You two seem very desperate, and if you truly can enchant the Prince, you don't need any inheritance of mine to obtain wealth. I believe I shall humor you two for now."

"Well, I am glad you are not panicked, at least. Even if you do not seem to understand the seriousness of the situation. We will humor _you _for now."

She actually laughed, and whispered to her horse, which started into a trot out of its open stall. I followed - slowly, mind, so that Corinne could catch up when she got back - but the loud, clanking noise of falling metal clutched at my hearing and at my heart, and my sense of panic all but flew back. Even Lady Asca seemed startled.

The sound of a yelling girl reached us, and the voice of a young man yelled back. Both came from the manor. Then came a strangled high-pitched yell, more banging ear-splitting metal hitting against metal, and then the evident commotion of a struggle. I gave an involuntary yelp of panic and slid off my mount, running. With every long stride, the manor came more and more into sight and I could see Corinne at the side, pressed against the wall, countless pots and pans all scattered at and around her feet.

My heart practically stopped, and I could see that familiar lanky figure stepping backwards from her, a shining blade in hand. Corinne twitched against the wall, and Gehedrion lunged at her, sending the noise of fighting metal ringing into the outdoors air once again, drowning out her yells. I blinked and saw he had her arms pulled behind her back, her neck craning back with a dark hand pressed against her Adam's apple, the blade of an opening razor playing with the light of the sun. He had spotted me and the Lady Asca. He was staring tauntingly at me, giving his knife-hand the slightest of twitches.

Somewhere behind me, I heard Lady Asca try pathetically at a yell, but her voice had left her halfway through the obscenity.

I stepped forward, maintaining eye contact with Gehedrion, who was shuffling a step or two backwards. I struggled to remain calm, but I couldn't help being drenched in cold sweat.

"Don't," I grated, breathing heavily. He raised one cocky eyebrow at me in silent question. I repeated myself, this time in a pleading voice. "Don't."

"And what do you propose to do to me if I do?" He was trembling too; his voice broke like a cracker being split. "Yukael does think they are no bandits to match you, let alone me, his most apt pupil. Oh, he is so impressed by you, did you know that? The way you lie," he moved his hand just a little, the blade almost touching flesh. Corinne turned a ghostly pale. "The way you act... the way you are everything he wanted me to be. He's always comparing us, you know. He'd love to teach you in my place. Well, I cannot become you, but I can prove myself to Yukael by capturing you. Now," he shook Corinne. "Unless you want me to spill every drip of blood your precious little friend possesses, you will cooperate. You are trying to escape; that much is understood. This brat came running into the house shouting for a map and rations, the foolish girl. I had been sent to tail you, and I am not stupid. Lady Asca, you are coming too. We cannot risk you getting away either. You both have seen too much."

I spoke up, trying to decide what I should do. I couldn't find my wits, no matter how hard I tried, so I took a breath. Then I said whatever came to me first.

"Gehedrion, please. You are better than this; that I know. You wouldn't harm Corinne, we both know that. You aren't that kind of person. What you are doing now... it is unforgivable, but you can always give in before you do anything you will regret. This will not help you, and you know that. This plot, this scheme to take the Lord Ozril's fortune... it is despicable. Just... _please_ don't hurt her. Let her go."

He stared at me for a moment, and then hardened, firming his knife-hand again after it had gone slack. "There you go. Manipulating again. Everything you say is a grand lie of its own, Rozenta. I can't believe you. I have your friend's neck against a blade, and still you spout nonsense. Now cooperate. Come here, both of you, so I can tie you up with rope."

I opened my mouth to threaten him with the power of the Merilian government, but I heard Lady Asca's feet shuffling, and she stepped forward, her pretty face flushed.

"I don't know what you are playing at, sir, but I demand that you release that girl at once."

And a figure stepped out from behind Gehedrion, taller and burlier. I blinked in surprise and looked into the man's face; it was Huvyl, and he was laughing. "Fiesty thing you are, Lady. A fine girl to have at one's side." And he reached for her arms, but she was not weak and submissive. She evaded his grasp and punched him hard in the stomach, pushing him backwards. Gaping, Huvyl fell against Gehedrion, who was still clutching Corinne as though she was his life-source. His grip went weak , so Corinne squirmed out of it and ran to my side.

Taking advantage of this opportunity, I took a metal pan that lay on the ground beside me and swung it at the softer region of Gehedrion's head with all the might in my arm. He dropped his dagger, fell to the floor, and clutching his head, he let out a final groan and stayed there.

I doubted he was dead, but only knocked unconscious. I never did have strong arms, and I knew not to exert so much force that I would become a murderess. Lady Asca and Corinne gawked at me, but Corinne recovered from her shock and took a pot, stepping forward and bringing it to collide against Huvyl's head, in the same human tender spot. The hit echoed along the dimensions of the pot. He did not expect the petite girl to try such a thing, and thus had no chance to dodge; he fell to the floor, eyes closed.

There was an awful silence between the three of us, but Lady Asca broke it first.

"So. You did not lie then." Her voice was clearly quavering, and she sent nervous glances towards Corinne's neck. The pale hand-maid was rubbing at it, her fingers pressing against the part where Gehedrion's blade laid.

"No. It was no lie."

Corinne broke in, her voice full of suppressed wrath. "What about these two men? What do we do with them? They will need medical help, no matter how much we loathe them."

I steadied my breathing and dropped the pot as though it burned my fingers. I turned to the Lady. "Lady Asca, can you tell Elberto about these two? Let him know only that they tried to attack us; speak not of anything else."

Lady Asca nodded vigorously and disappeared into the house, her dress sweeping and swishing around her ankles. Silence fell; my heart's racing gradually slowed to its regular pace. The firmament above us was sunny and clear, and I found myself watching the way the sun's rays flashed against the still features of Gehedrion's face. My heart filled with hatred and dread; not far from his body was his blade, the clean silver glimmering in the dancing sunlight.

Corinne and I turned to stare at each other, and then we walked hurriedly towards the stables. "Corinne," I croaked, finding my horse and mounting him again. The hand I put against his mane was cold but sweaty. "Did you get the supplies?"

"Evidently not," she replied, sounding bitter. She pulled the saddle over her own mount with brutal force, sliding the leather around and again with loud snapping sounds. I wondered at her ill-concealed anger and distress, but one could not blame her. It was difficult not to be troubled when you only just had a blade pressed hard against your throat.

"Oh, that is no problem. I know precisely where we can make a stop to get them, where we might be welcome. At least, I was welcome the last time I went there. It is not far, and the bandits wouldn't suspect us to stop there. Unless I am very much mistaken, I have a friend there who would be glad to help us." I flashed them a bit of a smile before I directed my horse into a trot.

Corinne's brow had risen and she opened her mouth, but closed it when she saw Lady Asca and Elberto striding towards us. Elberto looked aghast and inspected the unconscious bandits with his face wrinkled in disgust. Lady Asca spotted us on our mounts and made her way to hers, looking harried.

"Madam, where are you going?" Elberto asked her, bewildered. Lady Asca glanced back at him as the three of us began to ride past the manor grounds.

"To the market!" she yelled, her horse coming to a quick gallop. She waved back once, and together she, Corinne, and I rode past the open gates, calling to our horses to gain speed.

o...o...o...o...o

**Afterthoughts:** I don't have anything to say right now. I've got a cold and a sore throat, and to top it off I'm in a rather tetchy mood. Read, enjoy, review, and pray that I update before I end up destroying my computer by overuse.


	16. Round the Nonexistent Campfire

**Forenote:** I don't think anything I can say right now would be redemption enough for me, except for the fact that I have completely planned out the chapters up to 21, which gets exciting and includes all the fun stuff I've been dying to throw in. So… read and… it'd be wise to put the pitchforks aside, yeah. :lopsided grin:

Oh, yes – and this chapter doesn't do much except give the footing and basis for what I am _really_ planning to throw at you… it may be a little uneventful, but that is only because I'll be using it as foundation. I know, I know; I finally update, and the chapter is dissatisfactory; you'd do well to get over it.

**Responses:**

Stunned as I was by the booming feedback resulting from Chapter 15, I am _very_ and _very_ sorry to say that I have no time to write responses. It's either 'Get this chapter done and live!' or 'Linger and die a horrible flaming death via A Gypsy's Tale review's pages!' And I honestly believe that I am making the right choice.

o...o...o...o...o

**Chapter Sixteen: Round the Nonexistent Campfire**

o...o...o...o...o

Though the afternoon weather had been rather still and blue at the very beginning, rolling bunches of gray soon developed in the firmament above us, grumbling threateningly as they hit against one another. We hadn't ridden for ten minutes, but the later half of the afternoon often brought darker weather nowadays, and we suspected rain. Dark bunches of cloud slid across the sky, acrosss the dim prominence of the sun, concealing orange sunlight. The sky rumbled and complained, and the landscape grew darker as we rode on. The day grew dark enough to seem tinged with shadow.

A familiar lodge-like building that loomed beside a flat green field rose into our range of vision, and I breathed again. I had been near positive that perhaps I had gone the wrong way, leading us to inevitable doom, but I suppose my unstable sense of navigation had one of its good days today.

There, we came to a stop and hid among the bushes while I ventured up to the tavern entrance. I knocked on the door, and not a second later it was opened by a hunched old lady who was yelling over her shoulder.

"Laddy, be sure to remember that the rum had better be stored by tonight if you want to keep your situation, unless we can get Berrett to do it first. Don't make me have to talk to your father again! Marsi, is that you?" But once the stooped woman who pulled open the door turned her head, she could clearly see it wasn't. Her already thin lips seemed to disappear into her withered skin as she pursed them; her eyes narrowed warily.

Wringing my sore, cold hands, I explained myself. I was trembling slightly from sick worry regarding the bandits, but miraculously I kept my voice smooth. "Madam, I do not wish to stay, but just to find someone I must speak to. I believe his name is Artor; have you an idea in which inn he stays?"

Her eyebrow rose at his name, and surprise flitted over her age-obvious face. "Artor? Why, he stays in our vacant rooms abovestairs. I suppose you can call it an inn-room. He is here, and for a change spending the day indoors. Would you like me to call him?"

"Yes, please. Tell him Evetti requests to see him."

She limped up the staircase in the back of the spacious, combined den and bar room, disappeared for a moment, and came back down, a befuddled-looking Artor in tow. He was in a vest of handsome brown wool and seemed to prove the old innlady right when she said he would be staying inside the building; his white linen shirt was fancy enough to keep limited to indoor exploits only.

Eyes widening at the sight of me, shock was clear in his friendly eyes, or at the moment, his friendly-but-unpleasantly-unnerved eyes. "It is you! That - that girl from a few nights ago, is it not? The one who asked about the baroness. The noble-girl. Why, this was rather unexpected; I didn't expect you'd remember my existence, nor I yours. You needed to see me?"

When the old innkeeper hobbled out of earshot, I flew into a rushed explanation.

"Yes. You remember that I was striving to learn what endangered your baroness? Well, we have discovered them, and my lady-in-waiting, the Lady Asca, and I are escaping from those dangers; we are here to beg you to accompany us. You claim you took part in the army in Arvette; you must surely know the way back. And we need defenses - we are not weak women, but are undeniably vulnerable – for the moment, be it. Bandits who have sought after the baroness's fortune trail us, wish us dead. If you are kind enough to take our predicament to heart, you would help us. We have no way of surviving out there without someone with traveling experience. I know we have just met, but I assure you whatever you wish if you can be of aid - I have connections with the Royal Family, and I would make sure you should have a luxurious life if you may save us now." My voice gradually lost its official tone after several words, and my hands kept on with their wringing, knotting and re-knotting over and over until my knuckles were cold. He had better answer soon, or I'd jump out of my skin in impatience and horror if we wasted another minute. It could be at any given moment when we'd find the bandits right at our tails. And who knew what they'd plan for us then?

He was silenced by the news, and he looked behind my back into the cloudy day to see if he could spot the baroness, probably to be sure I told no false tale. Lady Asca and Corinne came into view to look at him in curiosity and bewilderment, but only Corinne approached us. Her cheeks were pink with sheepishness, but her voice was strong and determined.

"Milord, I cannot say more than what my Lady has said to you, but that we need you if we should have any chance of making it back to Arvette and saving the baroness's life. I am but a lowly handmaiden, but I know a disaster and a last chance when I see them." She nervously brushed her russet curls from her face, tucking them behind her ear and looking imploringly up at Artor with her eyes of a warmly dark brown, today dark and dim with demanding resolve. I had never taken the time to wonder how mature she was for someone so young, but then again, I was virtually a practiced noblewoman even at sixteen. I had been through things that could not help but make me mature, and although Corinne had so suddenly emerged into the painful world of reality, she was adapting well.

Artor stared at Corinne with a strange look on his face; his gaze was peculiar, and oddly enough for a man like he, unreadable. And then his features softened, and his benevolent smile returned. Still gazing at her, he said, "I cannot lie and say that I am not startled by this interesting proposition. But you are most obviously in desperate need if you feel that I of all people am your last hope, so I will do what I can. But do you truly believe you can travel all the way to Arvette with horses alone?" he added, staring at me in incredulity. I glared back with mild indignation.

"Our leave was sudden, and we were not able to stop for proper supplies. We figured we would get them here." And still perplexed, Artor called for the innkeeper to bring us rations and supplies, paying with a handful of silver. It seemed that he truly was familiar with travel, for he thought to bring a fair share of nifty weapons and a thick roll of maps, which he kept in a knapsack that was later tied to his horse. Corinne, Lady Asca, and I took this opportunity to water and feed our horses for the long journey ahead, and soon the two women grew to be more comfortable with Artor's presence, although they still stepped around him stiff-backed and wary.

As a stable boy provided me with a sturdier saddle for my steed, I glimpsed at Artor and found him staring at Corinne for a long moment. Then he shook his head once, seemed to laugh at himself, and resumed readying his horse. I jumped at this strange observation, and found myself approaching him, my curiosity piqued, and my temper beginning to surface.

"Artor," I hissed, narrowing my eyes. He jumped, turned in a swift movement, and stared at me. "What exactly inclined you to travel with us? I doubt it was due to my magnificent persuasion skills."

He laughed and tightened the leather strap that kept his knapsack secure. "I suppose your persuasion skills played some part, but it was mostly due to –"

"Corinne's interjection, am I correct?"

He blinked and seemed to take a step back. "Is that her name? But no, it was not due to her interjection. It was more of the fact that you needed my help to… ah… survive, maybe? Yes, I believe that was your argument."

I was not perturbed. "Do not pretend that you were not staring at her just a moment ago." I paused and went on, feeling a bit sick. "You aren't a philanderer, are you?"

Artor gave a sudden laugh, one of incredulity and amusement. "No, I'm afraid there was only one woman for me throughout my entire lifetime, even if it didn't end well. It is only that your handmaid reminds me so much of…" His eyes strayed again, and there was something like wonder in his gaze. This was disconcerting, and I was a bit more than panicked.

"You aren't exactly near her age, are you? The girl is fifteen, I believe, and I'd imagine you to be in your mid-twenties – "

"Twenty-six, actually. And I assure you; I bear no romantic notions for her in the least. It is only her appearance that intrigues me. Vedora looked a great deal like her." And like the mention of his drowned friend, the mention of this Vedora woman brought a more closed aura to his face; his lips thinned and the twinkle in his eyes were gone for a moment, but they returned just seconds later.

I was quiet, and forced to contemplate. So perhaps that was what instilled his obvious interest in the girl? The fact that she resembled a failed love of his, despite her much younger age? It was highly plausible, but I couldn't be reassured. The way he stared at her from afar – sadly, passionately, longingly – was rather discomfiting, and I departed with my small troop with a grim determination to keep an eye on Artor. I trusted him enough to request his accompaniment, yes, but he was not a best friend yet.

o…o…o…o…o

Soon enough we were atop our steeds and holding onto our small bags each (they held clothing, gear, and money, and we divided the huge load in the case that if one bag were lost, we would not lose them all), saying our thanks to the inn taker. She gave us gnarled smiles and waved as we departed, but it was too easy to sense the uncertainty and question in her eyes. The baroness, an exotic "Kionean" visitor, her petite handmaid, come to the inn-and-tavern to whisk away one of her guests? It was a very far-fetched idea.

But life was oftentimes uncertain, and we did not believe the inn taker's doubts would endanger us.

Artor rode in the front, while the three of us trailed behind, awkwardly quiet. He had offered to keep a diligent lookout for any guards or bandits on horses and to stop us when he suspected something. Meanwhile, Corinne, Lady Asca, and I put on silk veils with flowers along the front – which was traditional Kionean wear for women attending a wedding – for disguise, and we let our hair fall into our faces as to make us look unrecognizable. A ridiculous costume, true, and very easy to notice (considering three women on horses seemingly attending a wedding) but also commonly shrugged off in a busy place like Whitewhey. People would notice, but pay no mind. It was a good costume, overall, even if it did send me into flustered fits more than a few times. We donned them, put on a few of the bracelets and necklaces the baroness had about her to further the disguise, and mounted our beasts.

It was a good time for conversation – as we trotted mildly along the main road, which branched out of the solitary path that led to the tavern and was an alternate route out of Whitewhey – but none of us had words.

I sighed impatiently, and shifted my veil with a restless hand. Lady Asca glanced at me with a smile, and she touched her own veil.

"I think it is a nice tradition," she said evenly, laying a delicate hand on her veil's flower trail. I gave her a skeptical look.

"It is nonsensical. We should wear what we feel is proper, instead of these ridiculous thick things across our faces. Perhaps there are those that cannot tolerate curtains that suffocate."

"Perhaps they overreact."

I looked up and took in her expression. It was smug, and her eyes laughed at me. _So here is someone who can finally go against me with her wit,_ I thought, not feeling displeased about it in the least. _Although Clement comes disturbingly close._

"We have your trust?" I changed the topic uncertainly, wondering if she still looked at our situation as a grand joke. Her brow furrowed with unspoken thoughts, and she looked down at the small pale hands that held her horse's reins. "You are in serious danger," I continued. "And so are we. We need your complete cooperation with everything if we wish to make it out alive."

She hesitated, but the look in her eyes did not. Anger was easily ignited, and no veil could hide the evident frown to her lips. "I have lost my husband, my best friend. I constantly look over my shoulder, wondering why I seemed to be the only one who cared. Those that never gave a sixpence for me in the past suddenly baby me as though I am a fragile piece of glass that if not handled carefully would fall and break apart. Maybe that is what I am, but I would not prefer it." She shook her head. "I have no time and energy to comply completely with anything, but I will try. I am not attached to Ozril's money, but I will not let anyone besmirch his memory by stealing it. He never tolerated thieves and scammers and those who exploited. And I don't either." A sigh passed her lips, and it was tired and sad and almost old. "When that man held a blade against your handmaid's neck, I knew then and there which side held my trust."

My mind was scattered with relief, but sorrow also. What would I have done if I lost Clement or my family? The thought was unbearable. Perhaps I would die alone and wandering, still reading philosophy texts in library corners, huddled against firelight with tears streaking down my old, toughening face. Or maybe I'd recover, and live on in their memory, being happy as I know they would've wished me to be. And then I looked at Lady Asca, and I could see the suppressed grief hiding behind her eyes, and a strong woman's hand holding them down. It was then that I knew what path of the two she would take. She was not stupid, and she knew how to overcome what traps and obstacles and tests destiny would dare to put before her; and from what I could tell, she overpowered them with honor. My heart swelled with admiration for her, and I glanced away smiling, sparing a serene glance towards Corinne.

She was looking drowsy and uncomfortable, holding her mount's reins unsteadily. There was something strange in her veiled face, some sort of squinting activity with her eyes, and one hand went up to rub at her brow lightly. If I knew anything at all about illnesses, I would've called this nausea, or perhaps something else. An unspoken weakness, maybe? I'd have to find out, if I wanted her to remain healthy on the journey.

She stirred at my glance, and her hand flew quickly to her reins.

"Are you all right, Corinne? You look tired. I could always persuade Artor to slow down so you could spare a moment to breathe, if you would like it."

"Oh, don't worry about me, madam. I am not strong; that is all. Maybe if I had a bit more rest earlier, I'd be fit and rosy. There is… nothing to worry about." The glazed look in her eyes betrayed her, and I knew there was more. She said nothing, and I said nothing, but looking up I saw Artor come riding back towards us, gesturing with one hand that did not hold his reins.

"The gate leading out onto the traveler's road is not far from here," he said as he galloped closer. "From then on, we ride like the god of winds and spare no time for rest. I regret to admit that we cannot take the shorter route to Arvette; that is too predictable. We must ride along the main road, but turn at the fork beside the Redtide Forest. There is a small village not far from that fork – a place called Loranen Village, I believe. We can be permitted rest there, if we keep a low enough profile."

At the mention of 'sparing no time for rest', I looked anxiously at Corinne, who was rubbing at her brow again with one hand while the other trembled as it clutched the straps. "How far will we get, Artor, by today?"

"That I do not know; it would've been only a little more than a day's ride to Arvette using the main road, but we cannot take that way. It would be too easy to guess. We cannot afford anyone to tail us."

I snorted softly. "Cannot afford anyone to tail us? That could be a problem. We have nothing but enemies from what I could see; at least, not until we hit Arvette. Do you not mind endless streams of bandits tracking our every hoof print, or is that bothersome to any degree?"

Something urgent and harried flashed through his face, and he sat up straighter and tightened his reins, sending his horse into a trot in front of us. He spoke as he did so, and deliberately made his tone seem light and casual. "And I forgot to mention; I saw dark horsemen going around the town, and they are not far from here. Luckily, however, they decided to assume that we took the other route, from the looks of it. So I suggest we take advantage of this to the best of our ability, and leave as quickly as we can."

He trotted away, leaving us three women to share a stressed silence. So they already guessed we were gone. I suppose we had just begun our chase, but it was all too apparent that we were only at the point they all call the "calm before the storm." I could only pray we'd make it out of the storm triumphant and whole. Lady Asca, Corinne, and I exchanged looks, and they seemed to be thinking along the same lines. Together, we rode after him, ceasing all floaty-natured conversation and laid-back complaint. The idea seemed to strike all three of us at once; the chase would begin soon, and we should not be caught unprepared in it, lest we bring failure and penalty upon ourselves and – possibly – our companions.

We rode on in silence.

o…o…o…o…o

Once we left town and began to ride through the countryside, any positive and relaxed emotions fled completely. At least in town and among crowds, we were able to keep ourselves silently entertained and comforted by the sight of untroubled and busy faces everywhere, but the same did not apply to riding in the country. The country scene was nothing but long, sad stretches of a drying green – for autumn was approaching – and an endless road that seemed impossible to cover, so neither brought any thoughts of comfort. Artor insisted it was safe to ride with a mild trot, but this "mild trot" idea seemed to double the amount of time it'd take to reach Arvette.

Artor would not confess how long that would initially take, no matter how often he was probed. He knew maps, and navigation, but he would not tell us of his journey estimate. After a while, Corinne, Asca, and I decided we didn't want to know.

By nightfall, we were given leave by Artor to rest by a luckily thick patch of trees not far from the road, and he later relented when we requested to spend the night there. The road in general would be dangerous, and night would only make it worse.

Asca and I sat by a pile of firewood, staring at pieces of rock we collected and wondering how we may make a fire start. Corinne had volunteered to tend to the horses, and we left her to it; it was an easy job, and would not exhaust her so easily. She was getting sickly enough as it was.

"You'd think that as educated noblewomen we'd know how to light a simple fire, wouldn't you?" Lady Asca grumbled under her breath, striking two thin stones against each other and getting nothing but a small cut on her delicate white hand. I grimaced. It was not yet the time to reveal my true identity to her, but as my thoughts drifted I wondered that if she knew I were a gypsy, she'd probably say the same. Gypsies set up camps regularly; starting fire, for us, was a simple and easily taught skill. But unfortunately enough, I had been one of the children, never having to set the fires and pitch the tents and fetch the firewood. I played, danced, and sang with the other children, no matter that I was already sixteen. Eighteen was when I'd be given responsibility.

That is, until now.

"That does not make me a ranger," I replied in the same growling tone. "Sulfur, is it? Or flint? How can they expect us to find sulfur in a woodland area? Do you suppose Artor knows?" I abandoned the stones and fell back against a rock, and immediately regretted doing so. Lady Asca grinned at me and sat back with more grace, carefully folding her arms over her belly.

"Perhaps so. Perhaps not. He seems like he knows what he is doing. I do not regret letting him take lead." I nodded and looked up at the sky, searching for a sign of a lightning storm. None. The day had cleared finely, actually, with flashes of darkening orange that filtered in through the thick canopy of treetops up above. The sky we could see was a violet-streaked blue that still mingled with a sunset's bold hues of heat, even as they sank below the horizon line.

"Do you, ah, intend on filling me in on the whole 'danger' concept, Rozenta?" Lady Asca's voice was tentative and hesitant. I brought my head down and stared at her, wondering what would be appropriate to say. That it was her brother's fault entirely, as he tried to kill her and take her money? That she was as vulnerable as a pigeon? I didn't know which would bring a more frightening reaction.

"I… suppose so. But you will not like what you hear."

She nodded once and seemed to brace herself for it.

I launched into the story, speaking carefully when naming her brother and being as clear as I could, obscure though the entire plot was. Her face went blank whenever her brother was mentioned and her eyes would go dark and stormy, but other than that – and the tightening of her lips – she showed no blatant reaction. When I finished, I could've sworn I saw tears start in the corners of her eyes, but they disappeared as startlingly as they had materialized. She gave a pained shrug.

"An interesting story. I think I do believe you now. It all fits. The bandits pursuing us, your strange behavior as my 'friend', my brother's sudden attention…" her eyes began to shine again, and she clutched at her stomach harder. "He was always jealous of me. He had more, but the little that I had caught his attention. He wanted it all. I always knew there was something wrong with his mind, when we weren't playing together and he'd sit and count his things repeatedly… I did not suspect it'd fester and become this, though. No; this was unexpected."

_Was it really? _I suppressed the thought and buried it in the more forgotten depths of my mind.

We spoke no more of the subject after that, but she did look as though she were about to say something, opening her mouth, and then her face would harden and she'd shut it. Confused, I noticed the way she held her belly. It was odd. Protective… desperate, even. Was there a secret that she wanted to voice, and then couldn't?

Corinne came over, looking happier and brighter than before, and joined us by the nonexistent fire, smiling. Artor came striding in behind her, looking bewildered and sending several incredulous glances towards Corinne, and remembered to nod courteously for the Lady Asca. She did not notice; her head was turned, her stare at a tree, her attention elsewhere.

"What news, Artor?" I asked him, reading his expression. He stared at me, confused at first, but then his face became a little stiffer. "News? News. Well, I've discovered a slight problem in my plans. You see, I've wondered what could happen if the bandits did think to take this way, and the consequences are quite dire, I'll have you – "

His words vanished as an arrow came whizzing by, zipping into our camp and hitting into the trunk of a tree not three paces from Artor. For a moment, time stood still, air stood suspended and frozen, and stricken, no one moved. When we regained motion, we were all scrambling up, yelling, and panicking, our arms flailing and eyes popping.

Artor practically threw all of us onto our horses, and as he mounted his, he kept yelling all the while, "Ride, ride, ride, ride! Ride!" We gladly did so, as fast as we could, and fortunately, we hadn't finished setting up camp long enough to leave any gear behind.

Our horses were fast, and our attention was focused, and we could vaguely hear other hoof-falls far behind us, not as swift as ours were. Still, we were terrified and anxious to check our chests and throats for any unfelt arrow hits. They were still shooting arrows into the air behind us like mad. My breath did not come in even intervals, my heart felt ready to cave in to fear and beat itself to silence, and my lungs did not fill fast enough. My mind raced with prayer. _Please, oh God, please, please, let us escape… guide us through this nightmare._

We lost the bandits in due time, but we wouldn't stop. We rode on as though we ran from our deaths, though they stood far behind us, and we ignored the pounding in our ears and the blood threatening to burst from our veins. We only rode, and rode, and rode, running and weeping and keeping one another in sight, only riding and riding. We did not stop until twilight.

o…o…o…o…o

The acolyte named Samuel stood with the magician again, but both were not by the Prince's tent. They stood in a meadow with trees scattered here and there, and a spring that bubbled from underneath a pile of rocks beside a rather large oak. It looked sanitary and sparkling, letting the sunlight dance off of it with diamond like twinkles, and around it grew small green plants of various shapes and features. The two men were bent over in the tall grass, examining and analyzing a clump of bottle green ferns.

"What was the name of the plant again, Master Magician sir?" Samuel asked, frustrated. He fingered the tiny leaves of one fern and frowned at the way it felt more like rubber than leaf.

"Magician would suit fine enough, my boy. And the plant is lark's fern; it is small, it is green, and it has leaves that feel like sandpaper, with very smooth and shining tips. With this, we could make a tea that would sustain the Prince, and with magic cure him of the ailment."

Samuel flinched; it were practically hopeless. Here they squatted in a field of small, green ferns with a countless number of leaves, and how could one hope to find this lark's fern thing? Samuel had very careless fingers that had no gift with texture, and from the way he had already punctured his fingers on some very prickly leaves, they were roughened enough to barely feel at all. The magician, however, was having no trouble with the task, handling only a few leaves at a time, spending more than a minute at examining them. But there was something in his face – was it desperation, perhaps? – that frightened the Prince's loyal acolyte. If an experienced magician-physician was becoming anxious, what hope was there left for any with lesser knowledge about these things?

"Magician, sir, I cannot find the lark's fern. Are you certain it grows by meadow springs?"

Impatience and aggravation seeped into the old magician's tone, sharpening it. "I am an old man, acolyte. I have seen many things that have taught me many things, and one of the things I've learned is when to say you are certain, and when to admit you are not. And Samuel, I am certain that lark's fern grow by springs in meadows. It is the fault of magic. But that is another subject entirely. Now we must focus on finding the plant, or the Prince will only weaken."

Samuel froze, his eyes wide and apprehensive. The Prince was weak enough; could he possibly get weaker? Awakening in his tent, the Prince could barely limp out of it without the aid of Samuel, and nor did he eat; he took a glass of thin ale and then a glass of spring water every morning, to rouse himself, he said. And then, stumbling in his armor with the rest of his weary troop, he'd trudge along and struggle to think up decent questions to ask in towns about Lady Rozenta's whereabouts, until a fed-up sorceress once took him by the ear and dragged him back into his tent, where he was forced to rest. Upon hitting his head on the pillows, he instantly dozed and did not even snore. And snoring indicated good health.

Samuel knew his voice was pathetically meek. "Weaken, Magician? Magician, we cannot even find the thing. The Prince is already endangered enough by simply being on this trip."

The Magician did not look up. "Which is why we must. Find it, that is. Find it as soon as possible, if he is really as drained as you imagined. And though you don't think so, Sorceress Flondrahna was right to drag the boy by the ear. He is a stubborn lad."

Samuel stared at the Magician, who was smiling slightly. He had forgotten how much Magicians and Sorceresses could do; they could read minds as well as wield magic, but only when they intended to. Samuel supposed something in his clearly restless face intrigued the Magician and brought him to peer in on his thoughts.

The acolyte scowled at the floor smooth with green fern-fuzz, hoping to feel a sprout with a rubbery tip and rough body. He felt none. The Magician insisted that they'd find the thing soon enough, and that there was certainly a few sprigs of lark's fern somewhere in the fern-fuzz, but the Magician also stuck close to the idea that the Prince would heal eventually. Samuel wondered if perhaps, somehow, magicians did not know as much as they let others think.

o…o…o…o…o

**Afterthoughts:** :chuckles weakly: Heheheh… well, apparently, I've been absent from the world of Fanfiction, BUT it was for a WORTHY cause. Reading more and learning to keep my details short but compelling, I've been pursuing steady ground as a writer, and I think all my groping will be coming to fruition soon enough. I'm in the process of developing a real novel idea, and I'm still planning it out. Maybe, at a more comfortable time of day, when I'm no longer rushing to finish the Chapter and post it up before I am devoured by mobs, I will ramble on and on about the long-term story idea. But for now, I will close my Author's Note and leave you to fume in PEACE. :scurries out:


	17. Less than Expeditious

**Forenote:** I. DID. IT. I planned out every chapter for this story up to the Epilogue! Which is after Chapter 32, to let you know the length of the story. Really, some single chapters should be about two chapters instead, but I like full chapters with plenty of events – not to mention lengthy ones too. (This is a tad short though – my apologies. It is merely a bridging chapter.)

This Chapter could be called nifty and a good foundation (or boring – but that's harsh, don't you think?), but this will be the most uneventful Chapter you receive from me, no matter how invigorating you find it. After this, I will be pelting you with surprises like an open blender. (One surprise should be obvious from simply reading this chapter actually, haha, shocking thought it is.)

**Responses:**

**HIP HOP DIVA** - You cannot begin to imagine my gratitude when I get approving reviews - sometimes I cannot even reply in my normal, mild-humored way. All I can do is say 'Thank you', and I feel as though that isn't enough. As I can't buy any of you gifts, THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU. And that goes for everyone. THANK YOU.

**404** - A publisher::stares: Well, I have about three real novel ideas (two of which I am only planning out and brainstorming, another which is simply an idea that sounds interesting), so I don't plan on sending 'A Gypsy's Tale' anywhere out of the Internet anytime soon. :grins:

**Nosilla** - Oh, no, it is certainly no Cinderella story. However, I will have a very slight connection with Cinderella towards the very end of the story, in the ultimately LAST chapter. _Very_ slight... but it makes for an appealing ending, lol.

**Tami - **Going from astounding to very, very good... is that good or bad? Lol, I am sorry, but I can be a bit slow on the uptake sometimes. And thank you - I can judge my work too harshly sometimes that I go into a trance of depression, barely even opening a Gypsy file, lol. I am glad that to the outsider's view, it is 'very good.' :grins:

**Baby Vixen** - Why, thank you very much. :appreciative smile:

**cokefizz-and-chocolate** - :laughing: Was it really that wonderful? Oh, I feel so special... hopefully, this Chapter doesn't disappoint.

**Phillippa of the Phoenix** - Haha, I feel pretty ... I cannot even think of a decent word for 'stupid' right now. Huh. Well, before you squeeze the life out of our dear Prince, I will warn you that Eszti has an excellent right hook.

**TrudiRose** - Transitional chapters are good, and this one is transitional as well - but after that, the story will progress with such speed you'll forget that I have included bridging chapters to uphold a sort of balance. I was very tempted to make Corinne related to Vedora, or some other ridiculous thing like that, but I am not so desperately cliched. Sometimes. So now just call it pure coincidence that Corinne shares Vedora's looks, although it isn't completely useless - it was Corinne's appearance that sparked Artor's little interest, after all.

**SmileyFacePerson** - Ooh, I do think it has been past two weeks. :smiles sheepishly: But considering I wrote Chapter 17 twice... I suppose that'd explain it. And yes, I do remember a threat or two. :-P

**pearlwalrus** - Clement has been - as it is explained at the beginning of Chapter... 15, I believe - poisoned by an unknown castle occupant. Of course, as is my style, you will not discover who until much, much later. It is a slow-working poison, and I think I made a very foolish typo in Chapter 15 or 16 - I cannot remember what exactly, but it is there. There are many poisons that take a wide span of time to take effect, and this is one of them.

NOTE: For any reviewers that I could not put a message up for, I am terribly sorry - but I am sleepy, and for now I am only responding to those who reviewed after the posting of Chapter 16, along with pearlwalrus who needed clarification on Clement's illness. So if you want a very long, very personalized 'thank you' for the review, just email me and I'll be happy to oblige, lol. :wonders if anyone would actually try it:

o...o...o...o...o

**Chapter Seventeen: Less than Expeditious**

o...o...o...o...o

Afternoon soon came, slow and wearing, and we were riding again. Riding the night before and riding again on the same mounts might've killed them, but we were not so unlucky as that. Desperate to put some substantial distance between our pack and the one hunting us, we rode the afternoon without rest, taciturn. We were fraught, drained, bleak, and poor – none of us could speak for fear of dissolving into endless raves.

There were times when we would ask Artor for a report on our location – and we never got satisfactory replies. He was purposely skirting the subject, and sometimes he would blatantly refuse to tell us. Despite raised voices and some questions that bordered on pleading, he would ignore our probing and protests and would trot off ahead of us which such heat that we would think for a fleeting moment that he was about to abandon us.

Where there could've been there talk was only a wavering silence, filled with yawns and sighs and the sounds of sad breathing.

Many hours into our riding, Corinne whispered sadly, "I wish he would give us an estimate in days, at least. I do think he has a guess himself."

I gave a sour grunt, but Lady Asca contributed hopefully, "Thinking back, I do recall him saying 'a few days', I think. I cannot be too sure, though."

That made me glance at her. _A few days? _I doubted it with serious conviction. We did not strike a shortage of food and rations just yet, but no doubt we would eventually. How long could we last, exactly, with merely horses and a few satchels of provisions?

"I think it would be wise to speed our pace," I said suddenly, reminding myself of our pursuing bandits. It was as though Lady Asca and Corinne could read my mind, and without a question they snapped their reins and gently kicked their heels in, letting their horses go from a brisk jog to a mild gallop. I followed suit – but with a much faster pace – and I was able to catch up with Artor in a few heartbeats.

He glanced at me sideways and managed a tight smile. "I remember this road," he mused, squinting into the horizon, friendly smoke-colored eyes following the trail. _A very long trail,_ I thought sadly to myself. _Almost hopeless. _"It is one that branches out of the traveler's road, which I believe we had abandoned not long before, but it merges back into it in a day and a half with no interruption. We are not far from the forest. If you and the rest of the women would like it – "

_Specifically Corinne, you mean,_ I thought suddenly.

"- we could rest there for the night. In an hour we will see many groves of trees to welcome us in, and some will be deep enough to hide us."

_Not a bad suggestion._ I gave a shrug. "So we are not steeped in absolute hopelessness, I presume?"

He gave a dry laugh. "Oh, no. Not yet, if the heavens hear us. But… we will have to be careful."

"That much is obvious. Well, a day of rest would be good for us, and I am positive no one will raise objections. Yes, it would be very good." And with a curt nod, I fell back to ride alongside Lady Asca and Corinne and to tell them what to expect.

o…o…o…o…o

Artor, it pleased us to know, had been quite right. According to a nifty Kionean timepiece Artor had remembered to pack, around an hour had passed before we began to approach a number of tree groves that increased by the second. Some were shallow and lit attractively by sunbeams, but they would not hide us well enough. Not far from the road, Artor chose for us a dense, shady grove that had a very limited intake of sunlight – it would hide us well, he said, even if it was not the most comforting of settings. It was late afternoon – coming onto sunset – when we readied our second camp.

The fact alone that it was autumn guaranteed a swift and stealthy sunset. Under a graying orange sky, Lady Asca and I were kneeling by a campfire – which Artor had successfully lit for us. While Artor tended to the horses, Lady Asca was choosing carefully from our strict selection of rations and I was setting a pot upon an iron platform placed above our fire – another interesting invention that Artor had thought to bring.

"Water, I think," I said, watching Lady Asca scatter a few vegetable leaves into the pot. "Hot soup would be nice for tonight; I am not much of a cook, but soup is no problem. Would you, Corinne?"

Corinne gave a quick nod and hurried off to fetch some from the water jugs, kept with the rest of the gear near the trees our horses were tethered to. Lady Asca watched her go with a most unreadable expression in her grave face.

"You say she had been tired earlier, Lady Rozenta? I do believe that she still is."

A twinge of guilt elbowed me sharply. I was not a true noblewoman. "Oh, none of that 'lady' nonsense, Lady Asca. For me, at least. It is an uncomfortable title for me. Anyway, she does not look well, does she?"

"Do you think perhaps we should slip in a little more soup into her bowl later on?" Now her tone was unmistakably worried, and apparently trying to hide the emotion behind an uncertain attempt at humor.

I paused. "Yes, I think we should. But we mustn't tell her, though. She would not respond well to sympathy."

The baroness's lips quirked up a little. "Pity, you mean."

"That is a crass way to put it."

A second later, we heard the loud, earsplitting sound of clashing pots and clanging pans. We remembered the last time it occurred, and without a moment's hesitation she and I shot up and sprinted in the direction of the dun.

Standing behind a great oak, in the middle of a great sea of cooking ware, were Artor and Corinne. Corinne was on the floor, ignoring Artor's insistent offer of assistance and shoving his hand away, and then she managed to get up on swaying legs. She certainly looked sick now – wan and peaky – and worry shot through me, so strong it could be mistaken for panic. He gripped her arm with a little more force this time, trying to coerce her to look at him and accept his … apology, was it? A pinched look of frustration crossed her face and with unexpected vehemence she snatched her arm from his grasp.

"Artor, I am strong enough to take care of myself – I do not need your useless gallantry – " But she broke off at the sight of Lady Asca and I. Her pale, oval face flushed and with dignity she stepped back from him and bent down to collect the scattered pots and pans.

With a look of immense ire and frustration, Artor narrowed his eyes and stalked away, muttering.

A sigh of relief heaved itself out of Lady Asca as she relaxed, but I remained stiff. I stood stock-still, eyes as wide as dinner plates, as I watched Artor leave, and I rounded on Corinne with a look of intense puzzlement. She ignored it all and put the cooking ware away one by one.

I could hear a note of concern in Lady Asca's very expressive voice: "Corinne…"

"Baroness, Miss Rozenta, it is all right, nothing that needs worry. I simply fumbled with the pots and pans – my hands can are too nimble, you know – and they can be quite heavy, do you not think so? So I assure you, you are free to go tend to the vegetables. Scorched vegetables are, as I heard, very unpleasant."

There was a very loud silence, a silence that Lady Asca was all to happy to break by exclaiming firmly, "You are ill, girl. And don't you dare deny it."

I would have sworn on all the heavens that Corinne would; she was obedient, but she carried around a sort of pride when regarding herself very self-sufficient. She made independence her second nature and stubbornness her third, especially when her independence was doubted. She had clenched her jaw, widened her eyes, and then wrenched her jaw open, but nothing came out. Eyes popping, she stared at us like a fish for some seconds, and then began coughing in a most violent manner.

Not half a second later, Lady Asca and I were hauling her over to the blazing fire, sternly pressing down her shoulders and forcing her to sit, and placing a heavy blanket over her shoulders with a stare that clearly stated she would be better off leaving it on. And then I found a flask of the old inntaker's premade soothing concoction with honey, thyme, and chamomile, and obstinately I thrust it into her grip.

With a smoldering glance at the two of us, she relented and sipped the drink voraciously. We watched Artor tentatively come over and sit beside her, struggling with small talk.

Now splashing some a prudent share of water into the pot, Lady Asca and I were idly sitting by the fire again. My brow was creased with a new worry.

"You do not think he could possibly harbor any feelings for her now, do you? It is much too early," I said frantically, remembering the very discomfiting way he stared. Lady Asca gave me a thoughtful glance as she swiveled the pot with care.

"It is," she agreed, placing the pot pensively upon the platform. "Only a day. But that sort of attraction does happen occasionally; it is not a completely alien concept," she added, grinning over at me, two dimples showing. I could have scoffed.

"So you approve entirely?"

There she tensed; the hand gripping the pot handle froze, and the fine features of her face looked carved, stony. "Why would I not?" There was an undertone of skepticism in her words.

But I was not too quick on the uptake today. "Well, that is obvious, am I right? Eleven years of an age difference – that worries me…"

"And why would it? Lord Ozril and I were eight years apart, and that did nothing to our relationship. Why, I was quite lucky to have a man so wise and experienced as he. I was foolish and vigorous enough for the both of us." Her voice was chilly now, and I longed to take back my ill-considered words.

She continued to rant, suddenly with a passionate flair, eyes shining and the month-old sorrow aching again. "And our romance had absolutely nothing wrong with it. Nothing. You may think relationships with high age differences peculiar, but that is a malicious assumption – not your fault, but society's. All anyone can correctly conclude from high age differences is the near-fact that love has no boundaries. You know that. Love will not take two twenty-year-olds and possess them, if they are not a predestined match. No, I do not have anything against Artor and Corinne's attraction unless one wishes the other harm. No. They are good for one another."

I was rendered into silence, watching her pick the pot up to swill it again, most likely to expel her aggravation. Eleven years older! But she was right, and without a second turn of thoughts I knew it. Love knew no restraints; after all, I could barely be called the perfect match for Clement, status-wise. A Gypsy and peasant, and he the future King of one of the most powerful nations among the other kingdoms! But he loved me, and I him, and no unjustified society chain was going to change that.

Artor was a good man; and Corinne was a good girl, and together they would be an interesting pair. Their issues were very obvious. Most likely, Artor had noticed Corinne's ill state and pestered her about it until her rather slow and timid temper flared out – which, of course, brought about disagreements. But they were easy around one another, overall, and as young and insecure as she was now, Corinne would do well to have man as confident as Artor by her side. My worry was clearing slowly, slowly – I could accept their union. Yes – I could welcome it, invite it even. It would not be hard to.

I snatched a furtive glance at Corinne and Artor – and I smiled, just a little. The two were laughing now, Corinne's tawny curls bouncing and Artor's eyes shining with mischief. Despite all the bandits and discomforts and wonders if we would make it alive to Arvette, it was good to know that we could still find happiness – if in the smallest, most simple form.

I looked away, feeling envy biting the back of my neck like a gnat. How I longed to have Clement here; all this talk of romance was bringing my mind to wonder on him, and I found myself wanting to wonder. I still had not given up hope that I would find a troop sent by him wandering around, searching for me. Would I see him again, or would the last he would hear of me be through a letter, explaining my untimely demise? Oh, I could not afford to think so morbidly; but it was plausible. I wanted to cry, now. Perhaps I could pretend to feel him sit beside me, pretend he was placing his strong hands upon my shoulders in comfort, pretend he was smiling his arrogant smile at him in the way that I loved. Pretend. How I hated that word.

Lady Asca gave a small sigh across from me, and I started out of my reverie. From what I could tell, she was having similar thoughts – but for reasons I could not tell, she had her hand clutched around her stomach again. It was a desperate hold, like one meant to protect. I was perplexed, but dumbfounded I cast the thought away.

We had dinner before evening could become too deep; it was dark enough already, a sure sign of a foreboding autumn. The sky still appeared to be waiting for the moon, which did not exert its full illumination just yet. All four us sat in morose silence by the firelight, sipping our soups and staring at various parts of the wood. It had just gotten darker, and I felt fear plant itself in every nerve of my body.

The tense, awkward silence was broken when Artor asked carefully, "Corinne, if you insist you have no disease, what ails you then? And do not bother to lie."

Again came her irritated look. But she took it back and stared into her bowl. Her voice trembled. "I will not lie, Artor – I am not really ill. I suffer no ailment. I am only weak – very weak – and easily exhausted. Now that is not so distressing, is it?"

But my interest was piqued. "Weak? And why would that be?"

For a moment I thought she would not bother to answer; it certainly seemed so. She was usually meek – under normal circumstances, that is – but this looked like a subject she did not feel comfortable around.

"I truly see no sense in having to tell all of you a story such as this," she said softly, in a quietly petulant way. "But some years back I suffered a severe fever, back in my old situation. For some odd reason, it was very difficult to treat and generously my previous masters hired a healer for me. After a time and with some interesting potions I was ready for work again, but they said I would lose some general strength as a result from the fever – which they thought was rather rare. And so too much traveling wears me out quickly, and that is all there is to it. Nothing more."

But it was not as simple as she hoped to make it appear. Right as she was watching, I slipped her some of my soup and grinned widely at her astonished expression.

"This is a more serious matter than you think, Corinne," Lady Asca said reproachfully, her chastising tone apparent no matter how gently or softly she spoke. "When the physician said you would be weaker, he had probably been referring to your immunity system as well – you could catch diseases more rapidly and fight them with less strength. That is hardly an issue to wave aside." Now she was looking up, trying to glimpse tidbits of the sky between tangled treetops. "You shall need all the rest you can achieve tonight. We have spent a good part of the day resting and lollygagging, which means a hard day for us tomorrow. We cannot risk you swooning off your horse, no matter how comical the image."

Artor snickered and hastily hid it behind an indiscreet cough after cutting glances from the Lady and myself. Ignoring him, Corinne put on a pouting face that I supposed was meant to soften our resolves. And had failed quite spectacularly.

"All of you are being such fools -"

"The only fool, Corinne, will be you if you do not do as we say. And we have decided you will be the one to use the tent, girl." Now Lady Asca's voice had managed to become steel, and I stared at her admiringly. Corinne did not bother to object, but stood up, swayed slightly, and treaded indignantly into the tent. All day long, we had been debating who would sleep in the animal hide shelter tonight, but apparently Lady Asca had decided who would need it most already.

Unable to mask my mild amusement, I said merrily to Artor, "Her defiance is absolutely natural", to which he grunted and began to set up our blankets and stuffed feather pillows – with some special herbs to drive away resentment, worry, and fear. That would bring a restful, generous sleep, especially for such weary travelers. I picked up our bowls, regretfully dipped the leftovers into the grass, and packed them away while Lady Asca collected the cooking ware. We did not have water enough to clean them tonight, but we would at the next sight of a spring.

With Corinne in her tent and unable to hear enough to protest, we began to deliberate tonight's guard by the fire.

"I should do it," Artor had insisted, but in a more severe voice I cut in, "Oh no, I am afraid not. You too are in need of a heavy rest, Artor, and if you deny it I swear I will make your good night's rest something to dread. So I will keep watch for tonight, at the very least. Please, do not argue. No one here has energy enough for it."

And heeding my words with a solemn nod, he pulled off his traveler's jacket, stripped off his linen shirt to reveal a very well structured abdomen, and settled into his blankets – with only four seconds with his head upon his pillow and both eyes closed, he had begun to snore, a terrible sound like ripping cloth.

Wincing, Lady Asca and I grinned and only took off only our outer skirts, choosing to sleep/guard in our thin white dresses underneath. The baroness slipped soundlessly into her pack while I scrambled noisily for a blanket, situating myself comfortably by the fire.

Only, it was not comfortable. Far from it, quite truthfully. Once evening began to intensify, the winds seemed to carry with it ice and the very frightening prospects of things that could be rustling those bushes in the night. Not too deep in the woods we were, thank the heavens, but far enough in to keep hidden. I stared into the ambitious flames that struggled to swallow one another, drew my blankets tighter around me, and clutched my herb-scented pillow to my chest.

Inhaling deeply, my heart's frantic beating slowed a little and the distraction of the ruby flames scrubbed fear away. Hours came by and the night only deepened, and I was too frozen to look up and search for stars. Exhaustion had no trouble claiming me and as a result I wanted only to sleep. Humming softly to myself, I buried my chin in my pillow and summoned up some determination.

And then, unwittingly and unwisely, in the most absurd hours of the night, I fell into a heavy doze, falling to the side with my blankets tangled around me and my pillow still taut against my torso.

o…o…o…o…o

Some hours after I had given in to the temptations of rest, I woke suddenly and upon peering at the red, glowing embers, realized I had been a fool to sleep. Anything could have happened while I slept – anything! The ever-constant wariness of the bandits was enough to shoo away the last remnants of my desire to drop off again, and stumbling clumsily to my feet, I draped my blanket around me and examined my fellow travelers.

Lady Asca was clearly sound asleep, though her beautiful face was clouded slightly with a frown. For the umpteenth time today, I saw one of her hands gracefully spread over her belly, as though what she held in there was something more precious to her than life itself. She had secrets, and she knew that I knew that. I wondered if we would ever grow close enough for her to tell me.

Artor, however, was a comical sight. To my utmost glee, he slept on his stomach, so he looked amusingly odd with his chin on the pillow, one hand shielding his face and another flung carelessly some distance from his head. Biting back a chuckle, I took his straying hand by the wrist and dropped it over the exposed back of his neck, making him stir a little. He, apparently, had slept undisturbed. My worry subsided greatly, and it was only partially heartfelt when I crept as carefully as I could (which was not so careful, I regret to say) into Corinne's tent.

And the sight that met me struck me, sending my nerves screaming throughout my entire body. Corinne's own pile of blankets were tossed aside in one giant tangle and her pillow looked untouched. Only by the distant light of the weakening fire could I tell that she could not be a lump hidden by the sheets. She was not here. Breathing hard, I hurried out of the tent and stared dismally into the infinite abyss that was night.

Fear to a terrible degree – comparable to how I felt when she had a knife against her throat – filled me as I looked around like a startled hound dog, hoping to see her materialize out of the intimidating darkness, nonsensical though that was. Cold sweat drenched me as I took a thin bundle of sticks, let the flames lick and light one end of it, and stepped into the menacing darkness with only that simple torch.

o…o…o…o…o

It was around midnight when Samuel was prodded awake by a fellow acolyte, one younger than him and named Fistynn. Groggy and never a sunny person when waking, Samuel backhanded the unfortunate freckle-faced companion before tuning in to hear what Fistynn was frantically whispering. "Sam… Sam… Sa- augh! You …! Gah, Sa-AM! Are you up yet? SAM! Sam, something is wrong with the prince! Wake, man!"

At the mention of the prince, Samuel's eyelids had popped open with mechanical reflexes and as Fistynn pulled him up, Samuel struggled to bite away the sleepiness. Slowly, he digested Fistynn's words, and his blinking eyes widened in horror.

Oh, by the heavens, the Prince!

Fistynn helped drag a handy white shirt over Samuel's head and together the two headed into the magician's camp, only some feet from the sorcerers and sorceresses' tents. They did not need the light of the amateur's fire that Fistynn and Samuel could conjure, for magicians were coming out of their own tents with light – orbs of magically artificial sunlight floating carefully over spread palms. Some magicians were shouting and some were flinging dignified questions into the wintry air; some were quietly astounded and hurrying on quiet feet to the prince's tent.

Confused and startled, the magicians were being ushered out of bed by their apprentices and acolytes and they had come running when the prince was proclaimed "wrong." Expecting the worst, Samuel and Fistynn rushed to the Prince's tent and stopped dead when they saw it.

Some sorcerers and sorceresses were arguing rapidly with one another, debating his condition, while a few stood by themselves in heavy thought and profound unease. Overall, it was not a pleasant sight. It was only natural that the magicians would carry with them a sort of self-assurance and calm, for their education of magic in Maennsia (a city in Kione) was too thorough and their talent with the arcane arts too supreme. To see sorcerers and sorceresses flustered and panicked was truly a sight of desperation.

Samuel and Fistynn exchanged looks of disbelief and rushed into the tent, unnoticed by their instructors. Inside were three magicians – two sorcerers and one sorceress – and all looking particularly grim. Samuel could recognize one of them: the sorcerer he had searched with for lark's fern, which they ended up not finding anyway. He and the other sorcerer were boring their gazes into the sleeping Prince, both lips moving to mouth the same incantations, but neither making a sound. The sorceress – a dark and buxom woman who wore long and ornate golden necklaces over her white healer's robe – frowned at the sight of the two acolytes and approached them imperiously.

"Acolyte students," she hissed quietly, her black cat eyes wandering over to the Prince. Acolytes of magic were actually students from the academy of sorcery in Maennsia, students that had to spend two months out of school every year to assist and learn from experienced and professional magicians. "You do not have the permission to be in here while the sorcerers concentrate. Who gave you leave to enter?"

"No one. None of the magicians stopped us from entering, Sorceress," Fistynn replied promptly, as reckless as always. She frowned at that, but squinted her eyes at the two thoughtfully.

"Well, if you must remain here, you could be of assistance. The sorcerers are attempting a unison healing, but starting only with two. If we cannot progress with two, we will request the cooperation of another _competent _magician. As you are not what we require, you may try to assure the others outside that we have the situation under control." A slight tightening of her brow proved the lie in her words. They did not have any control whatsoever on whatever chaos was currently taking place, Samuel knew; a unison healing was difficult and stressful for the magicians performing it, and it was often a last resort.

"Sorceress, what is going on?" Samuel demanded none too gently.

"We are not too sure yet. But a maid who was to bring the Prince's nightly hot water came running out, crying that the Prince would not wake. And he will not. He lives, but in unconsciousness – or maybe even sleep. We will simply do what we can for him, but it would be easier if we had our _entire_ stock of supplies. On the road, we have nothing." _Of course,_ Samuel thought. _She disapproves of him coming with the troops and having to be healed during the journey_. _The inconvenience of it all irks her._

And when Samuel looked into his Sire's royal face, grave and still and seemingly carved from wax, his heart plummeted.

_A slow-working poison, _they said. _One that would take over a week to reach its maximum effect._ The magicians said that the sluggishness of the poison would give them plenty of time to heal him, but when Samuel inquired about the 'maximum effect' of the poison, none would give him satisfactory answers. Death, he knew. And right now, unconscious as his Prince was, he was bordering that 'maximum effect.'

Fistynn looked as downcast and cold as Samuel felt inside. His face hard and stony, Fistynn turned to the sorceress and asked, "Surely we can do more than comfort. We are training to be like you too, so we cannot be completely useless. Can we at least make concoctions that may revive him, or at least draw him a little towards consciousness? Would you at least let us try?"

For a moment, shock and disbelief had unraveled on the magician's face, breaking through her icy calm. But she filtered it out almost instantly, and with a blank face and only a wry twist to her mouth, she answered in a flat tone. "Much appreciated though your suggestion is, my good acolyte, we ask no more than what I have requested. No more. You may make the concoctions you think the Prince will need, but I will not – absolutely will _not_ – let you feed them to the Prince. The fact remains that you two are acolytes – not graduates, not masters, not professionals – and we cannot risk him only sickened more. Do as we request, acolytes, and you will have made us proud enough."

Under the impression that Samuel and Fistynn were suggesting everything just for a bit of acknowledgement from the magicians, she gave them quick pats on the heads and waved them towards the tent flap, indicating with a sharp face that they should go away. Samuel turned swiftly, planning to leave and make the potions anyway, but Fistynn stood and scowled as the sorceress turned, his fists clenched.

Samuel looked to his friend's face, which had darkened to resemble a firmament bursting with thunderclouds. "Fistynn, you cannot think to try any magic on her. You will regret it."

"I hate being an acolyte, Samuel."

A long sigh escaped Samuel before he could stop it. "I know, Fistynn. I do too. But that should not be our biggest worry. We have the Prince to worry about. I do not care what she says; I will make the concoction anyway."

Now Fistynn tore his gaze from the dark sorceress, who was frantically analyzing Prince Clement for signs of life. "What? That would be a waste of time. You heard her, Samuel. She will not give it to him; he will not get it. Unless you have a plan?"

Samuel shrugged, exiting the tent with Fistynn following close behind. "You will find this funny, but I have none. I will make the concoction, hope it is good enough for my Prince, and do my best to convince the magicians to try it. It will not work, but trying would cause no harm."

"Yes, it will," Fistynn said softly, his voice bitter. Samuel understood him all too well, but did not acknowledge it.

"Fistynn, I have served Prince Clement directly before and I was impressed. He is a good man with a good heart, and a good devotion to that foreign noblewoman. He trusted me, and I do not want to do less when I can do more. Prince Clement deserves all the effort I can give. So I will make the concoction. What say you, Fistynn?"

But Fistynn was silent and thoughtful, pondering. Was the Prince truly worth all that Samuel said he was? Fistynn guessed he would be a great man, but did not know him well enough to judge. He heard stories, but of course Fistynn was no longer young enough and foolish enough to take them too lightly to heart. But he could trust Samuel's word; Samuel was his friend, and Fistynn knew Samuel had a good sense of ascertaining character. And although Fistynn harbored a deep hatred for working hard and getting nothing but rejection out of it, perhaps his Prince and future King would be worth the sacrifice. Perhaps Fistynn would not need to be bribed by any promise of glory after all.

So Samuel and Fistynn set off into the night, using their amateur sorcerer's fire. They would think differently to save the Prince, now. If they were as arrogant as this generation's batch of magicians, they would still be unreasonably foraging around for lark's fern. But there was a way around that. It required a lot of time, and energy, and a strong and experienced magician, but perhaps enough effort would do the trick.

o…o…o…o…o

**Afterthoughts:** In my personal opinion, I think this Chapter was fairly well written – although, regretfully enough this is the second time I had written it. I had written it once before, had been utterly repulsed and dissatisfied, and wrote it over once I finished battling the demons that inflicted my most recent bouts of Writer's Block. Of course, not too much happens, but you see things begin to unfold and after this I will be slapping everyone silly with surprises bound to resolve every subplot in the story. And there are many (with a few more to come). So await them, and do so without the use of newly sharpened axes. I appreciate the effort.


	18. Something to Do With Legends

**Forenote:** A month and 6 days – I don't deserve all the praise I've gotten so far, lol. Believe me, I certainly grappled with this Chapter, trying to fit such new ideas into it. It's rather long, but pretty complete to me, so hopefully it does not disappoint.

**Responses:**

**Nebulia** – Thank you very much; and I mean it. Your "Wow. Nice chapter" was certainly long enough. You can make your reviews as lengthy as they need to be.

**Phillippa of the Phoenix** – Oh, Corinne has gone to a very special place. You shall find out in due course. (about ten minutes into this Chapter, if I'm not mistaken); and I highly doubt yelling at Clement will drag him out of him semi-coma. ((grins)) And yes, you're right; Eszti is getting pretty desperate, but they do get a little aid in this Chapter, so…

**404 **– My many thanks, and here's the update, no matter that it's disgustingly belated!

**Melika Elena** – Well, in terms of gender Clement is very much unlike Sleeping Beauty, lol, but I will let slip that he certainly won't awake before Eszti comes within a hundred-foot proximity. And I was certainly impressed by your realizing her… state so quickly, even if I'm terrible at dropping clues. When I leave hints, I am torn between making them too easy and too hard, so I decide to leave them out anyway. I assure you that there will be a Happily Ever After, although I will admit that the wedding won't be described in this story.

So sorry to the readers who expected it. ((grins evilly))

**SmileyFacePerson** – Eszti does indeed find him in a half-dead state, I'm afraid to say, but lo! There is still hope; I am the sort of person who believes in miracles, after all. This one is a more substantial Chapter than the last; I hope it's satisfying enough. And even if it's 2:37 AM here in Florida, I will restrain from writing too blandly.

**Cokefizz-and-chocolate** – All of you must hate me by now, with my irregular updating habits. Ahh. No matter. It's no less than what I deserve, anyway. Lol, I do promise to see this Fanfiction through TO THE END, so if I ever lose my Inner Muse for good, do remind me – and threaten, if need be…

**Lil' Bling Bling** – Katrina only gave us a three-minute blackout and a storm; but Wilma was worse. It actually FELT like a hurricane, instead of one great dirty downpour. We lost power for about five days and had to live on canned foods and things cooked on our outdoor grill… but the weather following Wilma was perfect, and I spent a lot more time with my family. It wasn't a terrible experience for my family at least, even if I still have a couple of friends without power. But Florida had help ((town centers giving away water and ice and etc., and very kind neighbors)) so we didn't have it as bad as we could've. And thank God for that.

**Gumdrop Boo – **I'm glad and beyond relieved that there are people out there who aren't mortally disturbed by the silly ideas I use in my stories. The Chapters 1-9 have all been too whimsical, and I confess that I had a COMPLETELY different plot then than I do now; back then was focused on romance, and the now is focused on fixing up all those little subplots I've stuffed into the story as well as the Big One. Keep reading, and I'll keep writing, if at often unreliable intervals.

**ToyMonkey-ching** – Oh, indeed. Now all they need is a good _fire._ ((foreshadowing – probably my last time attempting it too, lol…)) Thank you tons for reading, and I hope this Chapter merits a nice review.

**Abby** – Well, the suspense is neatly concluded about ten minutes into the Chapter, lol, and with very fitting descriptions too, if I may say so myself. And Clement is very much mortal; I am afraid he is capable of death. ((smiles grimly))

**Ducky – **Oh, I hope you're still an active reader after my span of "if-I-can-finish-one-chapter-within-three-nights-why-the-hell-does-it-take-me-a-month"… regular annoyance. And I do read what I write, and constantly – it gets me insecure sometimes, though, reading what I write and finding flaws in it. Sometimes it doesn't come onto the file the way I want it to, and that's downright annoying. My writer's block is indeed gone, and I thank you for the very effective advice.

**Mistyqueen** – Thank you very much, and I look forward to your (along with everyone else's) reviews. The prince… well, it'd be a lie to say he's all right – as he's currently unconscious – but I'm sure he'll be fine.

**Lady Vampyre **– Goodness and grace, how to start this response, lol? I thank you very much for your reviews, all of them, and I'm so glad that you enjoy my story so heartily. It's good to know that I am not boring you people as strongly as I can. ((grins)) Your reviews were a great joy to me, as they were so enthusiastic. After this response, I will send you the cut-off part of the conversation regarding Lord Ozril and Lady Asca's romance (which is cute and perfect… so sad he had to die after three, or four or five, years of marriage), and yes, I have a friend who has read Eragon. The author started it at age 15, and I heard it was fantastic – lucky dog.

And I've heard of Anne McCaffrey, who is sometimes held in the same respect as Robin McKinley and Tamora Pierce and a good handful of other writers who are amazing. Why, I'd eat leather if I could write 1/115 as well as they…

_**Now onward to the story, folks.**_

o…o…o…o…o

**Chapter 18: Something to Do With Legends**

o…o…o…o…o

Midnight had fallen, and with it a night darker than Donte had imagined. Starlight was dim and tonight brought no full moon: only a crescent, more gray than white. Struggling to keep awake as his horse trudged grudgingly along, Donte tried to collect his fury and sort it, so that even his emotions would be organized. _Stupid,_ the young ten-year-old Asca had called him. _Collecting your _anger? _Crazy! You would explode!_

He was too insane to 'explode' anymore. If it had been meant to happen, it would have happened ages ago.

Memories of his sister brought him to think of that Gypsy wench, and he ground his teeth and pressed his heels in, accidentally startling his horse. That boy-slim, shrewd-eyed, snooping little _hound!_ He should have known better than to use such a meddlesome brat in plans so intricate. That fortune would never be his. Well, if he would never get his hands on his sister's fortune, a pretty, black-eyed Gypsy would pay a price just as pretty for it.

Hinhma, that young man with no real sense, rode up to Donte, looking small and frightened. "Lord Donte, sir, I do not think we are on the right trail."

Donte's head shot up. The words swam in his mind, added to his anger. "Pardon, Hinhma? If I did not know any better, I would say that you were questioning my plans."

A stricken look passed over the young bandit's face. "Oh no, sir, of course not -"

"Then?"

The boy did not look as if he wanted to say any more. "I only think, sir, that they are no longer on the traveler's road… I mean, it would be too predictable, and even they are not so stupid – "

Donte did not speak; he was raging inside, and if he started he knew his raving would never stop. He would be like a rabid dog foaming at the mouth, and that would deeply wound the power he had over these outlaws. No; he would be rid of his evils in a more subtle way. He would turn his rage into thoughts, clever thoughts, thoughts that would do well to be woven into devious plans.

The shadows did not allow Donte to properly study the anxious contours of Hinhma's face, did not let him delve into a person's mind and soul as well as he usually did. But he was intimidating, nonetheless. He shoved his satchel into Hinhma's chest. "Take this, boy, and carry it for the rest of the way. Do not lose it." The sudden hush of his voice made Hinhma gulp, and crestfallen he fell back and did not approach the noble again.

No longer on the traveler's road? Mad! From that road, it was ridiculously easy to make it to Arvette, and what idiot would surpass such an easy shortcut? And it did not matter if Donte and the bandits made it to Arvette before his sister did, or vice versa. They had eyes and ears everywhere, spies that would be constantly on the alert, ready to send word the instant they felt the need to. No. Donte's plans were much too intelligent for the matter of roads to throw them off.

His sister. Donte felt the back of his neck heat up, felt as though a furnace had been built in the back of his throat, raging and roaring and rising. She was so easy to manipulate, so easy to fool – she was not worthy of the solid fortune Ozril had left for her. Donte hated stupid people. Donte hated his sister. Donte hated her money – _his _money, now – that sat behind the impenetrable force of a will, beyond his reach but just barely. He could feel his fingertips brush the coins, could see the glittering of gold.

Asca was right. Donte was psychotic.

_I will have that Gypsy's skinny little neck, _Donte thought to himself, deliberating on the best method. _Or… something worse. I will have her serve me, perhaps… yes… she is pretty – she will be a decent toy. Fiankette will not know. I will break the brat the way I break wild horses. It always works. She will regret the day she put my wretched sister's life over her own freedom._

And Donte's hacking laugh rang out, unexpectedly shrill, no longer the rich and youthful sound it had once been. It was evil, and cold, and angry, and everything else nasty and undesirable about the new Donte, the one consumed by money. He laughed at the thought of triumphing over his pathetic sister, the thought of all the fun he could have with his new toy, the thought of all that gold and gems and heaven-knows-what just waiting, waiting, perturbing him more deeply than any siren song ever could.

His men were calling to Donte for a chance to rest, a chance to make a small camp. But when Donte did not turn around to acknowledge them, they knew his answer. Oh, they knew. They would ride and ride until Donte had his fists full of gold.

o…o…o…o…o

The torchlight was dying down, and the dark surroundings began to press upon me; I wanted to scream Corinne's name into the wild, scream it until she came running back, until she and I had a chance to making it whole and safe back to camp. But that would not be wise, would it? Not in woods like these.

I was never one to count consequences. I sucked in a breath. "CORINNE!" I screeched. I tried again, holding it long enough to grow faint. No response. "PLEASE! WHERE ARE YOU?" Nothing.

Cold sweat drenched me; if Corinne did not hear it, then who else could? I was loud enough to stir the entire grove – oh, it was not even a forest and still I was feeling ready to jump out of my creeping skin! But I breathed out when I heard a faint, "Heeree," echo. My heart jumped.

I followed the fading sound of her reply, almost running now, holding my skirts tight. As a little girl, I never had a problem with darkness, but regarding the things that could live in it…

It was not technically a long run, but for all the fear that kept me running it could have been an eternity. Stepping over black fallen branches and the clutter of twigs and leaves that crunched under my feet on the forest floor, I was out of breath when I spotted an aura of candlelight, frail and almost hidden completely by the tall surrounding trees. Taking a deep breath, I took a final leap forward – over a decomposed log, I think – and stepped into a moonlit clearing.

I did not know there could be clearings this deep in the grove; this one was even larger than the one we camped in. The glade was a pool of blinding moonlight and the stars could be counted for all the absence of canopy. From a distance, I heard the sweet sound of rushing water – faint and newborn – and a distinct coughing. I followed the noise.

And there was Corinne, the mischievous girl, bent over a small spring flowing out of a particularly stunted tree, one that actually bore flowers. She looked up at my approach, stupefied.

"You fell asleep," she said blatantly, trying to excuse her midnight rendezvous'. I was not so easily swayed.

"Corinne, you foolish girl! Did you even realize how easy it is to be lost in this grove? Did you even stop to wonder if maybe what you were doing would put you – _us_ – in danger? Did you? And what in Merilian's _name_ are you doing?"

She cupped a handful of water and splashed it at me in annoyance. I gave an indignant cry, but the front of my thin slip was soaked nonetheless. Instantly, I felt the chill of it slip into my very bones.

"Pardon me, Lady," she said softly, but the defiant look on her face made me want to snort. "I mean no disrespect, but I have a temper."

"That much is ap-apparent, Corinne," I snapped, trying to wring my slip. But it was too short and if lifted too forcefully, would puff out and let in some of the icy air. I cursed vehemently.

"You have not noticed, have you?" Corinne asked carefully, pulling some fern out of the ground and laying it in the dip she made in her skirt. "No, you have no reason to. But I once knew a pregnant woman – and attended her birthing – so I can recognize the symptoms. She knows I know, that is true, but she did not want to tell anyone else unless it was necessary."

Blankly, I stared. Birthing? What nonsense was the girl spouting? "What?"

She glanced up, looking a bit doubtful. "Why, the Lady Asca – the baroness – she is with child. Has been so for a shade over a month, or so she says."

Her words rang in my ears for a hollow moment before I understood, and then winded, I swayed from the shock of it. Lady Asca, pregnant! Now, of all times, with us, traveling on horseback to Arvette, of all situations! For a moment I could not believe it, but I suddenly remembered instances when the lady held her belly, sometimes aware of it and sometimes not. And then it seemed all too obvious; how could I have overlooked it?

Coming to my senses, I glimpsed at the plants Corinne had already collected; it was a light handful, and from the mess of soil around it I could tell Corinne did not have much experience with herbs. "And what are those for?"

"She has been retching," Corinne said, sympathetic. "And having nausea. Morning sickness. I figured that these would do her some good, and as a Gypsy I wondered if maybe you could help me prepare them."

"A shade over a month," I echoed, awed. "That is still very early. Yes, retching is to be expected. But did her husband not die a month ago? I would think he would be too ill to sire a child."

She shrugged. "Some weeks before that, then. Perhaps two, possibly even one. Is it not said that west zeal can help for nausea?" She plucked hesitantly at a small, three-petaled flower the color of fading blue dye. I came over to examine it.

"West zeal is good, yes, but gordona is better. I can barely believe it, though," I added, picking a fern with a yellow stem instead. "With child! On a journey like this. But we were blessed when fate made sure Lady Asca would not be too far along."

Corinne nodded. "That would be disastrous. I can remember my last birthing experience well; I had never felt so panicked. From her screaming, she could have been splitting in two. And the liberal flooding of blood did not help, either."

I winced; the thought of blood chilled me, made me squirm.

Pausing and remembering to breathe, I heaved out a loud sigh. "But this is still a dangerous circumstance. Constant walking and motion is not good for an expectant mother, is it? And with bandits at our very heels – no, this is dangerous indeed. What are we to do?"

Corinne did not answer immediately, but only dabbed her fingers lightly into the steadily flowing spring. I looked down and followed the murmuring rush, but with a gasp realized that as the spring flowed out of the stunted tree, it swept on for only about three feet and then disappeared into nothing. At the end was only air, the water disappearing as though its own foamy ends swallowed it up, but never running out. Speechless, I ran my hand over it and held my breath as I felt the white water wrap itself around my fingers like wind.

"I know," Corinne said, her voice hushed with reverence. "It is magic. Unbelievable, is it not?"

Still mute, I nodded. So this was not a natural clearing after all, I knew. This tree – and many of the surrounding ones, I wagered – were made and maintained by some magical forces, some unspoken enchantment cast by some traveling sorcerer or sorceress years ago. Suddenly wary, I snatched my gaze up and stared around the moon-washed clearing. No noise, no rustling of trees and shrubs, no movement – it was unearthly, all this stillness. Only the delicate breezes swept and rattled, whispering laughter into my ears.

"Corinne, how did you find this place? How do you know it is safe?"

And with that question, she finally showed emotion; a slight tinge of pink bloomed in her cheeks, and her grave mood dropped and was replaced with one of girlish embarrassment. "As a little girl, I was told stories – fairy tales – when I was young, servant or not. There were a few with clearings like these in groves; in the stories, they had been made by good-hearted magicians, meant to provide some convenience for travelers with hardships on the road. That could include us. They were often described like this – special glades that feel magical, with sweet springs that had the power to restore strength and cheerful spirit. The waters lose their powers when too far from their spring and source, though, so I cannot bring any to our camp." And she broke off, looking awkward. "I am sorry, but these things have always interested me. I did not mean to ramble."

I shook my head, still staring at the water. "No harm in liking stories, Corinne. None at all." I quirked a smile. "Magic has always been around us, has it not, Corinne? I did not believe in it much, especially when you think of petty tricks of the hand. But true sorcery is in tales of history, and rumors say there is a grand academy of it somewhere in Kione. Magic. It sounds fascinating."

But to my surprise, she gave a curt nod and stood, still holding her skirts up like a bowl. "I would continue to gawk at the water, but I would like to have these mixtures ready before we dissemble camp to leave again. I heard that plants growing by magic springs are much more powerful than regular ones; I wish to take advantage of the rest of the evening. Have a drink, Lady, and then we can leave."

Regaining my wits, I looked up at her, studied her expression. She did not look scared of the concept of magic, nor did she look disapproving of it at all – but she did not love it either. Perhaps she was the sort of person that did not so easily succumb to such alien notions, the sort of person who would rather be content living a simple life doing what she had to do. I thought of Lieron, who was the exact opposite. "All right. A drink, and we are gone. There is much to do."

The idea of magic was entrancing, irresistible… but I was more dutiful than whimsical. The responsibilities I carried for the people I knew shielded me from the desire to simply sit by the spring for the rest of my life, drinking out of it and letting either sunbeams or moonlight drown me, allowing myself to merge with magic and become a part of the glade itself. I had tasks to do and conflicts to handle; delicious though the idea was, magic was not for me.

I took a breath, cupped a dainty amount, sipped it, and without hesitation reached in for another. The taste was heavenly after two days with nothing sweet to eat; the water was so refreshing that though I was in reality sixteen years old, I actually _felt _it for once. The sensation of the water rushing through me warmed me and cooled me both at once, made me feel alive again. Smiling, I stood.

"You should have some for yourself, Corinne."

"I did earlier, while you still slept."

I did not ask her how long she had sat in wonder by that spring of rapture, though I did wonder how many people had the same mental struggle by such a captivating thing. After all, there were no humans snared by the magic just yet, or they would not have dared leave the spring. Apparently, they were all strong people.

Relieved to escape all possible temptations, I followed Corinne out of the clearing.

o…o…o…o…o

It did not take a short amount of time to finish the concoctions, against our hopes. Corinne and I stayed up well into the night and even into a little bit of the dawn, preparing and remaking different brews, and then being forced to clean our mess of west zeal herbs, gordona, eyrie's flower, and oranhilip seeds as well as repack the pots and pans. By the time we could afford to let ourselves sleep, we were too tired for unnecessary conversation.

Our sentences were short and terse. "Are you sure we have finished everything, Corinne?" I asked wearily, rubbing my palms. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her give a tired nod.

"As far as I know, Rozenta. Lady Rozenta. If you still want me to call you that."

I shook my head, stifling a yawn. "A useless title. Use it for the baroness instead. So if we are done, why stay awake? I highly doubt I can stay up and guard tonight; for now, I will take my chances. Have a restful night, Corinne."

She did not even look at me when I gave an absent wave; letting out a loud sigh, she slipped quickly into her tent and disappeared.

The instant my head hit the pillow – no matter how thin and pathetic – I lost myself to sleep.

The next morning, I was positive I had overslept the instant my eyes popped open. I did indeed have an undisturbed night, lost in thick and hazy dreams I could not even recall, for once in a world where I had nothing to fret about. My sleep was full, but the moment I awoke I felt all my worries hit me full blast. My bones felt melted and I did not feel strong at all, but fighting it I strained myself into a sitting position and let out a ragged breath. And then I stood and examined the camp.

I was alone, I found to my immense panic. Our gear were still there, and not even arranged for a quick and swift departure. _How irresponsible_, I thought to myself. Indeed, it looked as though I was not the only one to have awoken so late; blankets were strewn messily across the dirt ground and I saw fresh footprints in the soil. Perplexed, I frowned and strode into Corinne's tent.

It too was empty, save for an unmade set of blankets. Feeling a strange blend of irritation and fear, I hurried out back into the camp and glanced at the footprints again. Four led into the wood, and I suddenly had a revelation. Was it possible, perhaps, that Corinne had awoken to show one other companion of ours the glade we discovered last night? When we left the clearing, I had expected to never see or hear of it again; the possibility came as a surprise.

I followed the footsteps, but I was wrong. Only a few feet into the grove I heard voices already. One was Corinne's, most definitely; the other, to my horror and amusement, was Artor's.

Both were arguing, one tone exasperated and the other pleading. I stood stock-still, straining my hearing for more.

"Corinne, even you cannot say what you did had any sense – "

"I do not want to discuss this right now, Artor, you buffoon!"

"Heaven's mercy, Corinne, just listen to me! What you did was insane; I don't want to hear about whatever cryptic reasons you have for that escapade last night _past midnight_. You could have gotten lost, or hurt, and who would have been there to help you, to save your ungrateful little neck? Oh, do not dare give me that look! Maybe if you took the care to speak to someone else about the same issue, maybe if you thought to take someone else's _aid_ for once – maybe if you were not so uptight about being independent, for the sake of Merilian - !"

Spellbound, I winced. The deadly territory he currently danced upon was not even amusing. For a moment I heard no response from Corinne; only a deathly silence hung in the air after his words. And then came her voice, slow and full of deliberate contempt.

"So you think I am being stupid, Artor? You think the fact that I can take care of myself makes me _stupid_ – makes me too different from those idiotic damsels heroes like you always chase after? Well, I am nothing like those maidens, and for that I am glad. Why can't you tend to your own problems, Artor, and let those of others remain as such? Why must you follow me like a hound, instead of simply letting me be?"

More silence; it stretched and stretched, as endless and distressing as the road we traveled on. I knew it was wrong to eavesdrop; I knew the conversation would get personal – if it was not already – and yet I could not bring myself to leave. Being very careful to make not a single sound – to even limit my breathing, if need be – I waited for more.

"I think you can guess the answer to your own question," Artor then said in a voice hushed with something I could not decipher. At that I almost cried out; their romance was much too quick. The fact that it happened so fast was – using the baroness's word – _alien._ Surely its pace would frighten her too. Surely it was wrong, ill-conceived, destined for a very tragic ending!

And yet, there was no mistakening the compassionate undertone to his words.

Guilt was truly biting at me then; their discussion was getting much too intimate. It was absolutely repulsing that I had even thought to listen in to begin with, knowing that there was something more than a spark between them. Holding my breath, I stepped daintily out of the wood and hoped they could not hear me.

Back at the campsite, I remained alone. Where Lady Asca was, I could not even begin to guess. It was highly improbable that she would be in any danger – or else Artor and Corinne would be seeing to that and postponing their own romantic rendezvous' – but I was curious nonetheless. For a moment I wondered where she could have wandered off to, but deciding that guessing would be useless, I contented myself with cleaning up camp and repacking everything, struggling not to think on Artor and Corinne.

I was in the middle of discarding the charred kindling when I heard a coughing figure approach. Alarmed, I looked up in time to see Lady Asca stumbling through a thicket, holding onto a tree for support. Without further ado, she fell over onto her knees and retched into a bush.

I leapt up and stepped back, staring. Oh, yes, she was retching indeed – she could have been emptying herself of all of her internal fluids for all the vomit that spewed out. I could barely contain my repulsion; I too felt the urge to sick up. Fortunately, a woman walking in after Lady Asca distracted me. My attention turned to her. I had never seen her before.

And yet, there was something in her face that looked familiar. I could not pinpoint what it was exactly; it was more of a hunch. Finely dressed, she wore a colorful gown of shimmering hues, all changing and shifting and moving as though by magic. Red and green and blue and purple merged like spilled paints on her skirts and light danced off of it; she wore gold jewelry and around her waist was a belt with a small brown pouch. She was pretty, with large hazel eyes and a delicate face; however, something in her features was as serious as a funeral. Despite the color that followed her, she wore the gravest expression I had ever seen.

All it took was a memory of our circumstances, and then I grew paranoid. Lady Asca, who had finished her expelling her nausea, looked up at the odd stranger with a look of trust. That edged me further; my face twisted with worry. I narrowed my eyes at the woman.

"Who are you? How did you come upon us? What do you want?" I shot, wondering if she could be associated with the bandits. It was unlikely, but no one knew for sure.

The woman tossed her chestnut curls over her shoulder and gave me a hard stare. Without replying, she helped the baroness to her feet and handed her a rag that seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Lady Asca nodded gratefully and wiped her mouth. The smell grew more pungent and the urge to sick up returned.

"Rozenta, Rozenta, it is all right. We can trust this woman. She has given nothing but help so far," the Lady said imploringly, voice harsh and low. The stranger replied, finally.

"And that is all I can give. I know you cannot afford to trust me, but at least accept my aid. I can tell you truthfully that I hold no bonds to any bandits."

My eyes widened. "How do you know about the bandits?"

"I told her," Lady Asca interjected gently. "She was traveling too and noticed when I was retching by the road this morning. She offered to help me, and when I explained our situation she proposed that it would be best if she could accompany us. She can help, Rozenta."

And I could not stop my jaw from dropping. "Lady Asca! You told her everything? How could you? Don't you understand that we do not know _all_ of the bandits after us? They have an entire network! And how can she possibly help? There is nothing anyone can do."

"She knows the way to Arvette," Lady Asca said, looking a little apologetic. "It was a risk, Rozenta, but I decided to take it. She will accompany us. She knows the route to the royal city." She and the stranger watched as surprise unraveled on my face.

The stranger spoke up again. "But, of course, if you do not feel I should come I will not. I am a bard's widow – and a bard myself – who visited Arvette to seek business. That was some days ago; I am on my way home to Ferdwell, now. But you lot look like you could use all the help to come your way; I would heartily recommend accepting me into your group."

For some seconds I was too dumbstruck to speak. Lady Asca, befriending a full-fledged stranger and then deciding instantly that she could come with us to _help!_ Suddenly, I understood what Lady Asca had said to me back in Whitewhey, not so long ago even if it felt like a lifetime. _It's rare for a person to just offer help, advice, assistance_. How true. But as Lady Asca said, it was a risk that had to be taken. We were lost, that I knew without a doubt. And if she could really get us to Arvette…

Lady Asca and the stranger were still waiting for my final reaction. I held their gazes and cleared my throat. "Well… perhaps that is not so necessary. If you can really guide us to Arvette, we will have a great need for your company." Maybe she simply was a stranger after all, and not of any harm to us as such. "I … apologize for my irrational behavior. But you understand; it is very difficult to trust just anybody nowadays. Do you have your own horse?" I asked suddenly. None of the horses Lady Asca, Corinne, Artor and I had would survive traveling all the way to Arvette with two people on its back.

The woman – she never did mention her name, did she? – nodded and made to leave. "That I do, Miss. I have my own gear, as well, and some food to pool in with yours. And my name is Jessamine, Bard Jessamine Trakovna." She smiled enigmatically as I stared. How…?

After she left, I sent a wary glance Lady Asca's way, wondering if she was still feeling nauseous. "Are you sure we can trust her?" I almost whispered. "We barely know her."

"Well, I barely know you and I trust you finely, don't I? Don't worry, Rozenta," she added in a gentler tone. "I knew what I was doing, inviting her. And if she gets a bit doubtful, we can always drop her when we're sure of the way to Arvette." The last she added brightly, and I too forced a smile.

And so, in less than about three hours and with a new stranger who could lead us to danger or be our salvation, we were ready to set off again. The early afternoon was spent packing and caring for our steeds, and by mid-afternoon we were already riding away from the grove, riding according to the directions Jessamine gave.

As we rode, I chanced a glimpse over my shoulder and watched the grove fall away, remembering. In that grove, hidden cleverly but easy to find for those who needed it most, was the glade and that spring, wrapped so thickly in magic that the mere memory had me feeling lightheaded. _That was actually an escape_, I realized, more than just mildly surprised. _Another option for those who feel pressure. To live with the spring, as the spring, never dying because the magic won't let you. Probably turning into a tree yourself, or fading into the air as easily as mist. Nothing to worry about. I wonder if perhaps Corinne and I were tempted at all._

In retrospect, we probably were.

o…o…o…o…o

Dust flew up in small yellow puffs, disappearing into the air like smoke, and Fistynn, frowning, flipped a few pages. They were yellowing and dusty and ancient, and if he flipped too fast it was almost guaranteed that the page would crumble; so as he thumbed through it carefully, he bit back a cough. Rubbing off a bit of the dust and dirt, he read the heading of one of the page, tracing the thin black script with one shaking finger: _Poisons of the Vine._ Jerking his head up, he stared across the tent at Samuel, who was sitting by the pot and reading from another archaic text of antidotes, as Fistynn was doing.

"'_Poisons of the Vine.' _Do you think…?" Fistynn licked his lips and continued reading, skimming through the chapter with a careful eye. _Meadow red vine… meadow red vine… meadow… I cannot believe it! Is this a poison unheard of?_

"Is it there?" asked Samuel anxiously, rushing through his somewhat newer volume of antidotes to known poisons, and finding nothing about vines at all. It seemed that the writers of archaic lore were much more complete in the past than in the present. "Any mention of it?"

A heartbeat of silence; but then Fistynn released an angry breath. "The closest here is the meadow yellow vine, but according to this passage," and here Fistynn made an angry hissing noise under his breath, "The meadow yellow vine is not usually used in a poison meant to kill; it has a lulling, slowing effect and if used in overlarge doses the powdered vine can result in unconsciousness. Doesn't sound like the meadow red vine at all, or even resembling it."

Samuel thought it over; no, it certainly did not sound related to the meadow red vine at all, despite the name similarity. But, perhaps, there was some invisible line of relation…

"What is the antidote formula?" Samuel asked, getting up and standing behind Fistynn's chair. Fistynn frowned and flipped the page, squinting at the cramped script – which inconveniently enough – was more faded on this side of the book.

"You use a sort of mixture of wine and dried petals of the wind's-kiss flower… hardly sounds effective. What were these old magicians thinking?" added Fistynn incredulously, looking up at Samuel's face. It was inscrutable, although disapproval drew a slight crease in his forehead.

"Wind's-kiss. Wasn't that the flower known for having stimulating effects on the body, as well as a fierce regulation of bodily functions? It can cause restlessness and insomnia, if not for the wine. Well… Prince Clement has been drowsier than usual nowadays, hasn't he?" Samuel added, his voice filled with a hope that he knew was false. That was lame even by Samuel's standards, pretending that the Prince's sleeping, almost comatose state was a connection to the meadow yellow vine.

He looked down at the yellowing pages once again, bending down and reading as slowly as he could. No; his very thorough perusal was in vain. There was no mention of the meadow red vine.

Fistynn stared up at Samuel, his face clouded with something that might've resembled disgust. His fists were clenched and he looked as though he were trying to hide a furnace. "This is hopeless. There is nothing – nothing! – we have read so far that would be of any use. Any use!" The last he had managed to yell, and letting the old book of antidotes tumble out of his lap he sprang up and began to pace the tent, fuming. Samuel stared at the unnatural swing of moods. Fistynn had been harboring all that anger for some time now; it was evident.

But that was understandable. Since the sorceress had rejected their offer of help the night before, Samuel and Fistynn – filled with a fiery determination to prove her wrong – had spent that night and the day that followed scouring through old texts and new texts, racking their brains for any prior knowledge of the meadow red vine that may have missed them during their rather uneventful classes in Herb Lore Theory (as there was a Theory and Practical class for every subject). For hours on end, they read and read and discussed and read some more, only stopping once to filch bread and water from the meal tent. To find all that work come to nothing… Samuel watched expressionlessly as his friend raged.

"Samuel, I am just as devastated as you are that our Prince is dying, and I don't regret these hours at work at all – so don't think that I do – but this is impossible, we've done all that we could, it would be unfair on ourselves and Time to do more… we are _useless_, Samuel. My strong point was never even Herb Lore – it was the Physical Forces, really – and yours was Elemental Powers – we know nothing that can be of use. I certainly have never been confronted with poison before, so unless there is some cure-all antidote out there, I can't imagine what more we can do…"

But Samuel had stopped listening. Gaping, he ran Fistynn's unwittingly genius words through his head, his mind racing. _A cure-all antidote._ Why, he was not sure if Fistynn had heard the story as a child, but if the thing was more than a mere legend…

"Fistynn."

"What are you proposing _now_, Samuel? I refuse to read another word, and I _will_ march to my tent to get what shards of sleep I can – "

"Fistynn!"

The furious young man cut his raving long enough to look Samuel in the face and glare. "What?"

"Do you realize… what you just said?"

And Fistynn snorted. "That I will be getting some rest, yes. I am not entirely sure about you, Samuel, but I am by no means nocturnal – "

"Shut up and listen. What you said before that, I mean. About the antidote."

Fistynn's pacing were completely stopped now, and all traces of rage were gone. His features were shaped by his confusion, but as he watched the thought that stormed like winter behind Samuel's eyes he felt something rise in him, felt his heart lighten. Mixed emotions destroyed Samuel's previous expressionless mask. Now his face was a great blend of disbelief, fear, fever, and… was that hope?

"What are you saying, Samuel?"

"A cure-all antidote. It… I _think_ it exists, Fistynn."

Fistynn could muster no response, and Samuel expected none. A small smile touched his lips, and he sat up straight in his seat, going on. "It's… it's a legend, though. I remember hearing it as a child and I remember a magician mention it in passing… mind, he didn't sound as though he believed in it, but then again, magicians are turning out to be rather narrow-minded…

"I don't even think it's difficult to make, Fistynn. Very few ingredients, and probably just needing an hour or so. Can you believe it? I should be able to remember… I _can _remember that it was said to have only one complicated feature." And Samuel's smile widened; Fistynn knew that the acolyte could remember.

"Well," Fistynn put in tentatively, unable to believe it. "what about the other ingredients? What of them? Do you remember them, too?"

"No, not exactly, but we can pry them from a magician if we must. Or read more and search. We mustn't give up, Fistynn; we are too close. We may yet have a chance of saving our Prince and future King."

The words were an impact. Silence fell, and it couldn't be read. Fistynn did not know whether or not the entire potion idea was entirely for the Prince, now; after all, Fistynn and Samuel would benefit greatly if they were to succeed. To be held in high honor and esteem, even as acolytes – such brilliant minds, when the professional and experienced magicians were at a total loss…

"Samuel, what was that one complication?"

And here his voice lost its zest, its life. As Samuel struggled to remember, it came to him eventually, and his face fell. Something uneasy seeped into it, and in his face and voice both his strain was revealed. Confusion dulled his eyes. The fervor that lit up his face disappeared almost immediately, like the blown flame on a candle.

"It must be consumed the day it is made – of course – and it is simple enough; however… it must be…" _Is Samuel going to finish his sentence?_ Fistynn wondered, silent. By the look on Samuel's face, he could guess that the news was something he hardly wanted to accept, let alone repeat. _I do not know whether or not I would like him to. To be let down once more would be too much for me to withstand._

The answer came finally, and like a sudden weight of metal it winded him. "It must be brewed with the blood of the one the drinker loves most."

Which, of course, was why the magicians of the ancient arcane reign were by Fistynn's standards completely insane.

o…o…o…o…o

**Afterthoughts:** An abrupt ending, but NOW it is 3:00 AM and I am ready to pass out on my keyboard. I would play editor for the umpteenth time and typographically abuse Chapter 18, but as I am not to be trusted when drowsy…

P.S. - But what I'm wondering... should I have an editor for this story? Not to officially publish it, oh not on my _grave_, but ... gah, I can't think clearly. Beta-tester, beta-reader, beta-editor... one of those. I might just experiment with one of the beta... beta-editors for a few chapters, just to see if it'd help me improve. Early feedback is very efficient. If anyone would feel up to it ((come, cowards, and stand with the brave!)), please let me know.


	19. Romancing

**Forenote:** No time for responses – this fic is long overdue! I am, again, sorry for the long wait; I wish I could say it won't ever happen again, but…

Yes, it is necessary for you to read everything in Italics, if you want me to shed a little light on a few things…

Hint: The background of one of the characters was built on one error I made when I said that the baby Leanne was pregnant with while she lived at the castle was Marcella – it turns that Marcella should not, then, be only ten; rather, she should be around twenty-two, twenty-four. Thank one reader for this keen observation, and the fact that this error made one certain character possible.

o…o…o…o…o

**Chapter 19: O, the Sorrow Love Has Sown**

o…o…o…o…o

_The clock's ticking was ominous, slower than it usually was and oddly abrupt in the air. It was in a small, cramped parlor, full of odd trinkets that were actually decorations, rugs and paintings that resembled the personal possessions of a merchant; a sitting set sat in the center of the room._

_There was a seat for two, and two sat upon it: a big-eyed, thin-faced, brown-haired woman, dandling a little baby girl on her lap – a baby girl who looked remarkably like her, sharing the same big eyes and the same chestnut curls, although the baby certainly had healthier cheeks._

_And on the rug sat a serious young woman – also with thin cheeks – looking about 18, who regarded the baby with an indeterminate expression: wary, but unconsciously concerned._

_The middle-aged but still beautiful woman was smiling and running her narrow fingers deftly through her babe's shining curls. She looked up with bright eyes and something like an engraved sadness stirred within them – a look that was almost permanent on her nowadays, a sorrowful shadow that tainted even her most dazzling smiles. "It's only been four months, you know; that is considered a time too quick. I do hope that you would rather wait and handle things more traditionally, dearheart."_

_But the grave-faced eighteen-year-old only shook her head rapidly, averted her eyes, fingered her peculiarly colorful skirts. "Mother, I know what I am doing; I would swear upon it. You cannot stop me loving him, in any case. If he does not have a very prosperous business, we will find another way to survive – I am not lacking in skill, either." And then she gave a tiny sigh, turned her head away completely. "Though I really desired your support, you know."_

"_And you have it," her mother said sternly, her gleaming eyes hard. "You shall always have it. What I ask of you is intelligence. You love him, daughter, but understand that that will not always resolve your way in life."_

"_Oh, I know about your mistake, Mother. You told me. And I know that it tore your life apart, when you had me; but I am not being blind. He truly loves me; he'd shout it to the entire world if that were possible."_

"_But even that wouldn't be proof enough," her mother muttered, looking down at her younger daughter. The baby had fallen asleep, it seemed, even amidst the stretching tension of the conversation. The oldest daughter looked upon her sister with those forever-solemn eyes, those eyes that were so very different from her mother's. Her mother's eyes once had the power to laugh, in days long past._

"_I still don't understand," she started carefully, most plainly not looking at her mother. "why you made the same mistake twice. You had me, paid for it, and then went ahead and had her. Father shouldn't have visited; you know that the two of you together is forbidden."_

"_Oh, Jessamine, don't you think I know that? But you cannot blame us. I could not be rational, not when I hadn't seen him in over four years. The merchant allowed it, anyway, so long as the visit was kept private. Your father still loves me, you know," And a smile touched her face, a very brief expression of bliss that stood out from her more perfunctory smiles. "After all these years. Such long years."_

_The girl called Jessamine was silent, brooding. "I still cannot understand why I call him Father. I see him only once every three or four years, and simply for a day – which he spends with you, most of the time. I don't know why I love him, especially when there have been less than twenty words between us. Maybe we spent more time together in the past; but I do not know."_

"_Love is a very strange thing, all the forms of it," her mother intoned with a smile. But Jessamine could read her mother's face, could see that it was not a smile at all. Simply a pretty curving of pretty lips. Jessamine had seen her once-laughing, once-lively mother smile a _real_ smile before, and this was not one._

_And suddenly, her once-beautiful mother did not seem so glamorous anymore._

o…o…o…o…o

The landscape of the territory they ventured into was getting dryer, not bringing the rain the earlier few days promised. Soil turned slightly yellow, not a thriving color, and the patches of grass became few; the scattered forest came to an obvious end by the afternoon. Ever-present, the sun looked down upon the unfortunate troop below and warmed them when they did not need to be warmed. Moods were, like the weather, unpleasantly heated.

There would be no rests, according to a rather severe Artor – they would eat on the road, for spending too much time in one place would increase the risks of danger. Jessamine, the very serious woman, agreed without hesitation, and when it was clear that midday had approached, she dug in her satchel for a small loaf of bread. I, just as cranky as the rest of them, could not help but watch her in worry.

"Who are you?" I blurted, wondering how such a solemn woman would consent to wear such bright clothing. "Who are you, really?"

"Me?" she replied, finding some bread wrapped in a clean linen cloth. She split it into two equal halves and handed one to me and one to Corinne, who was looking very sickly again. I remembered that she did not do so well without water, either. "I recall introducing myself as Jessamine. Do you still doubt my trustworthiness?"

Biting into my bread and wincing as my jaw ached, I couldn't honestly bring myself to shake my head, 'no.' "You cannot blame me, though. Anyone would be paranoid in such circumstances, and considering how many times I've been surprised and threatened… and we just met you. Who are you, Jessamine?"

I watched as she took a breath and looked up into the sky, squinting at the sun. The land was not desert-like, no matter how dry – and yet, the sun was. "A bard's widow. My husband died four years ago, but in those two years we were married and he alive, we could never have a child. Not long after our marriage, I discovered that I was barren." A smile appeared on her face, mirthless and bitter. "And I'm still very young, you know. 24 – a sad thing he had to pass away after simply two years of marriage. A sad, terrible thing. But there's no point in brooding over any of it now. What has been, has been. Right now, I can only think of finding my sister and helping you. I can't afford to bury myself in memories."

In a very twisted way, I could see she was right. We were not in a predicament where we would spend four hours crying over mistakes of the past. But despite that, my heart couldn't help but ache for her. "And I suppose that is why you still wear a bard's clothing. To remind yourself of him."

"That is partially the reason. But I mostly wear them because I am a bard myself. I sing and recite poetry; and my husband told stories. We were held in high respect in our working days, and I like to think that we still are. Very recently, I sang in King Ignatius's court, at the Queen's request. I was returning home to Ferdwell before meeting you."

If I were holding anything, I would've dropped it. Not counting my bread, of course. Unabashed, I stared at her; my manners and composure could go hang themselves. "You sang in King Ignatius's court? How recently? Do you… have you any news of what is going on in Arvette?"

She countered my gaze with her own thoughtful one; I could see her remembering something that had slipped her mind moments before. "I had nearly forgotten; you are Rozenta, aren't you? Your friend called you as such. Mind you, you fit the description, although you don't look evil. Or magical."

Swallowing another bite of bread, I groaned. "Is that what they say about me now?"

"Among other things, yes. The enigmatic noblewoman from the enigmatic Elysia – a country unheard of until you showed up. A tan-skinned, black-haired, black-eyed young woman with a supposed ill disposition – often grumpy, I heard. Seemed to have magically wrapped the Prince around her finger." Her serious face broke into a wide smile as she eyed me from the side. "Judging from my last visit, it seemed like that indeed."

I did not reply immediately. "Oh?"

"Mm-hmm. He has organized a troop to search for you – and is part of them as well. Although I think that was a terrible decision; he should've stayed in the court. The last I heard, he was very ill."

"Ill?" I snapped immediately; he was most certainly not ill that last time I had seen him. He did not even have a cold; where did this mysterious illness come from? "I… I don't remember him being ill. Is it serious? It can't be. I would've noticed."

But she shook her head, a dismaying sign. "I'm afraid it was serious, although the herald would not tell the court to what degree. Which has me wondering if it is so terrible. It certainly sounds like it; I only wish I knew where the troop was now. Finding them might be easier than reaching Arvette, you know. They left the dawn after you disappeared. We might have even passed them, for all we know."

She was not improving my day. "Ill. Heavens above. And… he went anyway?" I could not filter the heat from my tone, the rage and incredulity. How stupid could he be? If it was so lethal, then he should have remained in Arvette – sending a troop should've been enough for him.

Against my will, a sensation of pleasure bubbled in my stomach; he was being very valiant, joining the searching troop even under inconvenient circumstances. And all for me. It was a winning gesture, even if it was indescribably stupid. "Did you ever see him ill? Can you recognize the sickness?"

"Oh, no. First off, I am not a physician. I have no skill with illnesses, what causes them, and what can treat them. And I did not see him ill, no. Most of Merilian knows he had fallen ill on the journey. I should've been clearer; he did not leave ill. But he fell ill, and the entire country knows about it – and Arvette has been thrown into a panic."

So he hadn't been sick as he arranged to leave, it turned out. But that did not change much; I was as furious as I had been when Jessamine first mentioned it, unbelievably furious. Even if he hadn't been sick when he left, surely he would have the sense to return to Arvette once diagnosed! Knowing him, he was probably being stubborn and foolhardy, hoping I'd fall to his feet and grovel with gratitude. And he was probably right; the instant I'd see him, I'd probably lose all resolve and throw myself into his arms, weeping and wailing like a madwoman. Well, all the more reason to take this opportunity to be angry with him, then.

I fell into a disgruntled silence, growing more and more melancholy with every fleeting memory. This was not the first time Clement had invaded my mind, and heaven knew it would not be the last. His roguish smile, easy manner, electric blue eyes… and his touch. Oh, his touch. My mind wandered to the day we had been so close, our faces nearly touching, and the galvanizing shock that racked my bones – he kissed me, that day. And I ran. I ran. Like a coward, like the Eszti who did not realize she had let her alleged rival steal her heart away – the Eszti that I could not even remember.

Had I truly grown so much? It was a frightening thing, really, knowing that the skittish, tactless girl had been me – and it was even worse that that was me only a few weeks before. What a wonder. I could scarcely accept it.

Giving an audible sigh, I clenched my fists and tightened my grip on my horse's reins as I involuntarily remembered the feel of his hand around mine. Warm, and full of promises; protective; secure. And not too firm – his hold was loose and it offered me a choice of whether or not I wished to hold on any longer. With the exclusion of the first time he had ever touched my hand, of course. That day with Bedivere.

Had he been _jealous?_

I smiled at the memory and dropped my eyes to my reins, my anger slipping away. But what if he really was sick, was _dying_, even? What could I do then, if I managed to find him at all? I would do my best to save him, certainly, the way he was doing now for me – but would it be enough? I was not marvelous at herbal medicine; speaking quite truthfully, I was an amateur. And if other physicians could not treat him, what then?

These were not thoughts that would be of any assistance on our journey. It bode ill for us if I distracted myself so easily. I sighed. I shouldn't be so negative – I'd see him again soon enough. We would make it, after all, and then I'd see to this mysterious sickness of his. It was not so hopeless yet.

As I focused purposefully on the road ahead – so long and winding and yet oddly conquerable – I heard another sigh beside me. I turned and spotted Lady Asca in the action, looking quite tired. She had not spoken much since we departed, and that was now very understandable – bags had developed under her eyes, hollow, and her mouth was looking tired and sullen, as though it had spent the entire day gulping down mighty quantities of the most disgusting medicine. She caught my eye and I could see her face was pale.

"So you know now, Rozenta?" she inquired softly, and I nodded. Even if Corinne hadn't told me the night before, I would've guessed it from her display this morning.

"Two months?" I asked in return, and she shrugged indifferently.

"Possibly."

There was a moment's silence before I said sharply, "Why did you not tell me? This is not something to be kept from others under circumstances like these. If you were frightened that we would send you back – "

"Of course not," she snapped. "Do you think I am completely stupid? You and Corinne were trying to keep me safe from the bandits, and sending me back because I was pregnant and too fragile would defeat the purpose. It is only… I am used to watching out for myself, you see. Ozril tried his best to remain the protector, but I had a very strong personality. Just because I am with child does not mean I am utterly hapless; and I suppose I was afraid that you and Artor wouldn't realize that."

I paused. "So you told Corinne because –"

I was cut off from an impatient 'humph' from Lady Asca. So the mood swings were already kicking in. "I didn't. Corinne caught me vomiting once and knew instantly what it meant; luckily, she agreed to keep it secret."

"Ah."

I could feel the chagrin radiating from her, what with her muttering and bristling, so I chose to say no more and it seemed like she did the favor. And it seemed like it would remain that way, meditative (and not really that pleasant) silences from the both of us, with Jessamine sparing us glances in turns. Once, I looked at her out of the corner of my eye and met hers, and I caught something very peculiar about it. There was something not quite normal, not quite ordinary and not quite mortal, about the glint in her eyes, and I don't know if I imagined it, but I saw something around her spark.

Well, she could keep her secrets if they did not endanger our mission – but could I trust her?

The absence of activity – but for the riding – began to grate on my nerves again. I knew I was aching everywhere, and I suppose it was around two hours until I began to feel the stiffness. I was in the middle of flexing the fingers on one of my hands when I heard the unmistakable sound of trotting coming towards us, some distance ahead. Alarmed, I glanced at Lady Asca and she was looking ahead, squinting. I turned back, faced forward, and noticed that the rider coming our way from ahead was actually Corinne.

And following her closely, as was to be expected, was Artor, seeming annoyed. I looked from his expression to Corinne's, and I saw she wore a smug smile. Well, well. For once, it was Artor feeling the aggravation.

When Artor caught up with the haughty looking Corinne, he grasped her arm and turned her slightly to face him. And he ignored her sudden expression of outrage. "Listen, Corinne," he said stridently. "I can very well tell the difference between my past unfaithful lover and a recently met look-alike of hers. You did not catch me admitting anything."

"Oh?" she breathed, her eyes narrowing. "You said yourself that sometimes you saw her smile when I smiled, and that you heard her voice when I spoke. And that I even laughed the way she did. You confessed that it was hard to make a distinction between that Tedora and myself. So I caught you admitting that your stupid _attraction_ was a great fluke, even if you won't repeat anything like it again. I won. Now leave me alone. And let go of my arm," she added, hissing. He released it slowly, but did not step his horse backward.

"I was in love with her," he intoned, carefully and clearly as though she would misunderstand. "With Vedora. I loved her smile, and I loved her voice, and I loved her laugh – so if what I say is true, how can you be any different?"

Everyone heard, and not one of us could manage a sound. Corinne, especially. We heard her suck in a sharp breath and make to step back, as though he were a madman.

Strangled, her voice was, and a little afraid. "Exactly. And she broke your heart, didn't she?"

Artor half-smiled. "_Precisely._ That is where the two of you are different. One is a dishonorable seductress; the other is a young and kind-hearted woman capable of loyalty beyond bounds. So answer this, if you think you know me well enough – which of the two do you think I'd choose?"

The change in Corinne's expression was rapid, but I believe I caught it: she gawked a little, but clenched her jaw as something flashed through her eyes. A sudden realization, maybe, as though she finally understood something that had slipped her mind for so long. Her face tightened and looked taut, and she stared at Artor with something like a smoldering resentment. She backed her horse up a little, but did not tear her gaze from his.

"The one you're still in love with," she said hoarsely, as though forcing the words out were painful. Shock wiped Artor's half-smile away, but he said nothing. From the distance, Lady Asca, Jessamine, and I could see her turn and set her horse into a gallop, riding into the other direction, way ahead of us.

Artor did not follow her. He hung his head for a moment, then gave a start when he finally realized Lady Asca, Jessamine, and I were fixatedly watching. It was clear that he averted his eyes, and he too turned and trotted away, in the direction of Corinne and her mount.

It had been a tense ten minutes of riding before I dared to break the silence. "Vedora," I said softly. "Yes, he mentioned her when we first recruited him. Do you think Corinne was right?"

"What, that he is still stuck on this Vedora of his?" Lady Asca replied skeptically. "It is something to doubt. Corinne is being blind; he might have noticed her for her resemblance to Vedora, but he is most definitely in love with _her_, not some memory. You can see when a man is madly in love. Well, so long as you are not the one he's in love with."

"Very true," I mumbled, staring ahead. Ah. Yes. Lady Asca definitely won a point there.

Jessamine did not seem likely to contribute any of her own notions of love, so there was no point in any further conversation. Our mounts seemed tireless, striding evenly with no protest or complaint, and to ignore our aching joints, we tried to relax and enjoy our scenic surroundings. Only, they were not very scenic – the land was flat and dry, and the green existed in scattered patches, and we could spot no tree groves or scraps of the forest. Lady Asca and Jessamine took to their own silent thoughts, and I followed suit.

The hurry seemed over, and the bandits far away. It was the phase after the first shot of storm, the deadness and strain that almost always existed before another stroke fell. We were too exhausted to be on our guards. By twilight we had reached a few trees, all thin and willowy and not at all practical, but we consented to rest there almost abnormally without vehement argument. Half-asleep, we fumbled as we tied the horses, spread the blankets without order, and with no words for one another, we fell asleep.

_Would all our days be like this? _I thought to myself as I drew my blankets around me. Accompanied with the nightly song of crickets, I could hear Artor snore. _All our days, and our nights? This wandering is so aimless. And if we did manage to find Clement… _the next thought, one of him lying dead in his cot, so still and seemingly carved from snowy marble, was too painful. I fought the notion, exhausted myself, and groped hopelessly for sleep.

_If only love could truly conquer all…_ I thought, right before I fell into a doze. _… but then again, the people who say so aren't exactly philosophers, are they?_

o…o…o…o…o

Through the marble halls of the Merilian palace, high-ceilinged, curtained with white and black and gold tapestries depicting the Twelve Gallantry – the legendary founding council of Merilian, consisting of the five influential district leaders and the five prestigious magician advisors, all headed by the King Berier and His Lady Eiova, the ancient title for the Queen – and marvelously spacious, a young woman ran, clutching her stomach and looking dangerously anxious. She was pale and perspiring and rushing through the halls, and at first glance quite pretty. When examined more closely, she was beautiful: she had a classic sort of beauty that was often associated with nobility, with her alabaster skin and curiously hazel-colored eyes, set off by hair that twisted and twirled on its way down her shoulder.

But as she was a young serving woman who was with child, no one could respect her, no matter that she was divinely attractive. She swept through the halls, looking a ghost even as she held her stomach – beginning to bulge – and gazing around as feverishly as a hunted rabbit. Panting, she moved as such as she did her errands, scaring the nobles she had to serve and displeasing her supervisors in the kitchen. She was nowadays increasingly jumpy and nervous, and when someone would comment on her belly – even in a complimenting fashion, hard though that was to digest – she would stare through them with such a fearful hostility that the person would never mention it again.

Even though the young woman was a serving woman, the Head in the kitchen demanded that she would carry no more trays, as she spilled almost every single one – particularly when they held tea.

On one specific day, a nerve-wracking one for her, the other maids huddled around and watched her silently as she rushed to and fro, silently biting at her with their eyes. When she was gone, the maids looked at one another and gossiped.

"She has gotten herself into trouble this time," a stout maid said, planting her fists on her hips and looking stern. A fierce-eyed one, tall and bony, glared at her impatiently.

"_Obviously_," she said cruelly, as though there were no truer words. "She has always been such a hussy, but never before has she actually been…"

"Are you positive?" asked another thin maid, one who actually looked kind and soft, although her looks lied. "I could swear that she has been gotten with child many times before. I wouldn't be surprised."

"Oh, don't be completely stupid," snapped the one with a predator's eyes. "Of course not. She's never been like this. She doesn't even flirt and wink at men anymore, not that they'd find her appealing with a stomach like _that._ Looks like our pretty little butterfly has finally lost her charm."

"Is she keeping the babe?" a more sympathetic maid asked in a hushed tone. "She has no one to provide for her. What can she do?"

"Find the father!" exclaimed the stout maid, earning a hurried hushing from the other maids. "I think," she said importantly, in a quieter voice. "she should find that selfish man and force him to care for her and their child! She isn't a total fool!"

"Yes, she is," said the tall maid. "And I don't even know if the father is still here. He left some weeks ago, and he had only arrived in Arvette some five months back. At least, I think that was the father. You remember, the dark one who she flirted incessantly with whenever he visited the palace. I personally think he isn't considerate enough to take her in if she ever found him again. Well, she's certainly thrown her life away."

"So will she stay after the babe is born?" asked the only maid who cared. The others shrugged and looked around at one another conspiratorially. "I don't quite think so," said the thin, nice-looking maid. "She'll be birthing a bastard. She will be forced out of the palace, and will probably end up working at some lord's mansion, weeding his labyrinth gardens and filling all twenty of his fountains with well-water."

"Hah! And I can't say I feel entirely sorry for her. This is her mess; this is what she gets for skiving her duties to flirt with men. Let us only hope that she doesn't worm her way into becoming that lord's lady of the manor."

"Let us hope," chorused the three cruel maids, and they all burst into peals of shrill laughter. The fourth one frowned and stepped away from them, looking shame-faced. When she turned to head off to her duties, she spotted that pregnant young serving maid watching them from a corner, a frozen look on her face.

The kind maid's heart ached. It hadn't been long ago when the serving girl's fresh face was full of zest, and her rarely-hued eyes so very keen for men – but that was all gone, now. What her circumstances left in her was scarce – only misery wrapped around her like a cloud, the dread of a life she knew she would despise forever.

The serving maid broke into sobs, turned, and stalked away, and utterly concerned, the kind maid followed her. As she caught up to her, she shoved the other woman's shoulder, lightly as to catch her attention. "I am sorry," she said hurriedly. "_I_ do not resent you. But what will you do; can I help?" But the pregnant woman was marching away, tolerating none of it.

"All of you, you all sicken me! Do you have _any _idea what I am going through now, what I have to go through later? Stop acting like you care! Just let me be!"

Before the kind maid could find any words, the serving girl had already disappeared, turning the corner in a frenzy of tears and enraged curses, the very image of sorrow and pain when it is most misunderstood.

o…o…o…o…o

**Afterthoughts: **The last part may have been a little intense for readers, but that is the way of the world – undeniable. And yes, you'd do well to remember the pregnant young serving maid with the _dark suitor long gone_, especially if you are planning to read this fanfic's companion fic ((still in the making))…

**PS –** I hate to give this away, but I'm afraid I'll have to – this is the LAST CHAPTER where Eszti and Co. are all together, and in Chapter 20 you'll see why. Little does Eszti know that those few days were the last of her monotonous ride to Arvette.

Please review!


	20. Heroics

**Forenote:** OH MY GOODNESS, you know as well as I that this is entirely inappropriate! Just get on to the story!

o…o…o…o…o

**Chapter 20: Heroics**

o…o…o…o…o

Days passed easily, in the rushed sort of manner that is common when something unpleasant is at hand. The afternoons were pressuring and identical, and sleep became a thing harder for Samuel and Fistynn, especially after that disheartening discovery they made as they scavenged through ancient healing context. Losing energy came as naturally to them as gaining breath did, and as they sat together one fateful afternoon, neither carried fire enough to light even the most oiled of torches.

Playing with a feathered quill, Fistynn looked over at Samuel and twisted his mouth in displeasure. "Does the Prince not love you, Samuel? You are, after all, his dear acolyte. Surely your blood would suffice."

Sharply, his friend replied. "Do not be mocking, Fistynn; you dishonor him."

"'Tis true, though. The Prince cannot possibly love only one human. May we summon the King and Queen?"

"I already told you, Fistynn, to stop your jesting; it paints you as cruel."

"But the tale said, 'the one he loves most', yes? So it could only be the Lady."

"It is no tale, Fistynn; but yes," Samuel added wearily, secretly knowing that this was his friend's nature only, and he also knew Fistynn had not a black heart – although he might as well during times of frustration. "it can only be the Lady."

Fistynn nodded and for a moment a blaze returned to his eyes, extinguishing that lethargic air for a moment. "This would be easier if we had help, any help, I do not care from whom. Perhaps we should tell the magicians after all, no matter that they should later use this experience against us. Well… if anyone could have the mind to believe us."

"Finding one would be too difficult, however." Samuel sighed. "So this is up to us. Where next does our troop stop?"

"Stop? Sam, with the Prince totally incapacitated, there is talk of the troop turning back and returning to Arvette; 'hang the Lady Rozenta,' they say. 'Let us go back to Arvette and have the Prince treated rather than continue this passionate folly. He would marry the Lady Marguerite and be well, and his kingdom would rejoice.'"

When Samuel did not reply, Fistynn looked up and seemed to want to say another word of perfect sense, but together they paused: a great wave of sound seemed to rise outside the camps, and when they strained their hearing they knew it to be the protests of many.

Outside of the tent, chaos ensued. The camp was filled with some zealous rebels that assembled around Prince Clement's tent, and looking as harried as any stressed mortals, the magicians struggled to hold them back. Words were screeched and whispered, but all were intelligible; his face white with anger, Samuel rushed forward and with a blank face, Fistynn followed.

They pushed through the crowd the way they would fight through shrubs and briars, and at the front the magicians glowered at them, warning the two acolytes with their eyes. But Samuel and Fistynn could pay them no mind, and even shoving a magician or two they slipped through the barrier of bodies and stumbled into the royal tent.

"What madness is this?" Samuel roared at the magicians. Their heads swiveled and Fistynn could see their half-panicked, half-enraged expressions. All were whey-faced.

"Acolytes! Who gave you leave to enter, you juveniles?"

Samuel stepped forward and began shouting at the top of his voice, shouting as Fistynn never heard him shout before. "Abandoning the Prince's cause? His Royal Highness would be disgusted with the lot of you, if he could awaken to see this mess!"

Sorceresses and servant girls gasped to hear Samuel speak so to those of such rank. Several of the magicians were not slow to retort. "This is no business of yours! Go back to your tents and have your midday meal; play no role in the Prince's mess. For it is his, and no other's."

Gasps were more audible, and suddenly the crowd burst into titters. "Treason!" one woman breathed, and then clapped her hands over her mouth quickly as though she were the one to lose her head.

"The Prince gave no command to turn back to Arvette!" Samuel spoke on. "It would indeed _be_ treason to commence as though he had."

"But he is dying!" cried a tender-hearted sorceress. "We cannot treat him properly on the road; we have no herbs for antidotes, no apothecary, none of our equipment. For his sake and that of Merilian's, we choose to save our Prince's life over the Lady Rozenta's."

"And do you think the Prince can ever forgive you?"

Perhaps it was best that Samuel and Fistynn could not remain long enough to hear the response; there were seized by their collars from behind, and clumsily they were led away – backward, that is – dragged away from the crowd. They could hear their kidnapper only say, "Such hotheads, the two of you, and you will pay one day, I swear it" as she – for it was, indeed, a she – pulled them along.

Even facing the other direction, Samuel and Fistynn could see her do magic, judging on the way the crowds were parted so forcefully. _She must have combined Air and the physical forces,_ Samuel thought vaguely as she took them to the back, and when they were virtually alone – in a narrow space between two very large tents - she wheeled them around and they saw one another's faces.

"You two?" she exclaimed in disdain, and Samuel and Fistynn shared her surprise. It was no other than the bejeweled sorceress from before, the dark one with all the gold necklaces. Her cat eyes narrowed. "Do you think to be booted out of the Academy, boys? We can strip you of your education, you know, if you do not speak with care."

"That may be, but I cannot let them do this to the Prince! Do they intend to see him reign as a King in misery?" Samuel said, and Fistynn looked upon him in awe. Never before had Samuel been so outspoken; it was just not in his nature.

"Yes, they do, for Merilian's dear sake," the sorceress snapped impatiently. She was waving her hand dismissively, as though she had something much more important to say. "And they could be right, but I do not intend to work on their side. I believe in finding Lady Rozenta as well, but at least I am not stupid enough to yell it out to this hell of a crowd."

"Oh?" Samuel pressed on like a fool, an uncharacteristically cocksure fool. "You believe in looking for Lady Rozenta? Then why do you do nothing? Why do you speak to us like this in secret? Why do you do nothing more than conspire and discuss and count the consequences?"

"Because!" she hissed suddenly, her hands twitching as though they wished so very fervently to wring his throat. "I don't intend to be decapitated by those wild-with-panic soldiers before I can have a vial of that brat's blood – "

Fistynn gripped Samuel's arm in alarm, tightly and not without reproach. The two were silent and agape, and for a second they did not know what to think. Were they to fear her now that she knew? Or would this actually work to their advantage?

A queer look came over the sorceress' face, and she regarded them with dubiety – and then with realization.

Such understanding did not fit her features well. The expression looked like a sour grimace on a sulky face like hers. A pretty, but sullen, face. It was as though she did not appreciate having to take so much time to comprehend something.

"Ah," she said softly, contemplatively. She relaxed visibly, like an easing serpent, and she put one jewelry-festooned hand to her mouth. "So you know of it too. For a moment, I thought you two misinterpreted my words to mean I intended to murder her. Ha! I think not. But I am sharper than that – I can see you've heard the rhyme as well. 'Tis an old little verse, and more common than you'd guess. Perhaps we can help one another."

"The rhyme?" Fistynn asked before Samuel could speak. For in his storm of a huff, Samuel would say 'no' without reason. "Do you know the rhyme? Could you recite it now?"

"Certainly," she snapped, as though offended he could doubt that she could. "I am a healer; every healer should know the rhyme by heart, even if they would not speak of it." And her voice went up a pitch, giving it a sort of eerie quality. As she sang, she crossed her arms and raised her head, the very image of self-importance. "'_Retching, poison, malady; we can magic up the cure. For all we'd need would simply be; fern, water, and melnomy; and blood from whom the victim'd pain; to see hurt most, the one he loves. And stir it twice and have it lain; to wait on sunlight's windowpane.'_"

Melnomy – a sort of weed that grows in hideous multitudes after rain. Fern; and also water. _Such common, ordinary things. How could they…?_ But the acolytes took in every word of it and committed the poem to their memories. None of them spoke for a breadth of a moment, so lost in the unearthly aftertaste of the rhyme, and afterwards they listened in silence to the racket of the crowd. They could hear the magicians – rather loudly, too – exclaiming that they would be taking charge in the Prince's present inability to lead, and that the search would come to an end, much to the cause of rejoice.

Some ignorant, shortsighted soldiers were cheering already, for how could anyone have doubts that the magicians would revive the Prince in Arvette? It was a heinous thought! Treasonous, the authoritative sorcerers declared. Traitorous to doubt them! The Prince would be sent back to Arvette and would undergo intense _magical_ healing – how can that fail? All the soldiers would have to do is cooperate, and they would all be heroes!

The sorceress, who appeared kinder now that the acolytes could compare her to her co-magicians, made an irritated noise, a sort of _tsk_ that was not under her breath. "Fools, the entire lot of them," she said in voice that was both agitated and regretful. "There is nothing they can do for the Prince, even with the right supplies. I suppose I should've realized this sooner, but perhaps I am just as blind as the rest of them." The thought made her mouth twist, as though the idea was something bitter.

"If this cure-all is a secret known to a very privileged few, then how can you be positive it works with _everything_? Have you tried it? With _everything?_" Samuel demanded, and Fistynn wanted so dearly to groan. They had so unexpectedly gained an ally to value, he thought, and now Samuel would dare to lose her. Was he possessed?

"You impudent little boy," she drawled unpleasantly. "Do use your brain, will you? Magic is a very corrupting tool, just as efficient as a title of power or a claim to the throne. Thus, magicians – sorcerers and sorceresses alike, I'm afraid – are not the most well-intentioned of folk. When we learn something worth knowing, we keep it to ourselves – we are not so honest as to share. Even the most sincere find it a weakness. And believe me, acolyte, a cure-all recipe is very likely the most valuable bit of knowledge a healing magician can acquire. Have you never wondered why you hear so little of it, despite the guarantees that it does indeed work perfectly? Are you so honest – so _sheer_ – that none of this could've crossed your mind? That is outrageous, boy."

"But surely the magicians would use it," Fistynn put in aggressively. "Surely they would flaunt it, knowing who they are. At least, _some_ would, as I should've said."

"And they do," the sorceress replied sharply. "But they are not stupid. They do not want others knowing of it, and so they disguise it as something else. They do not brag about its greatness for fear of another cleverer magician using what he heard to procure the knowledge. So I warn you, acolyte, to beware of what the magicians _do_ brag about. Usually, it is not something worth paying any mind to."

The psychology – the disgusting psychology – compelled the two boys to want to argue some more, argue on the behalves of the magicians that were not so shrewd and selfish; but they couldn't. It was peculiar, actually, that no matter how they could rack their minds for an example, they could find nothing to oppose the sorceress' logic. They could find nothing to prove her words untrue.

They did not waste more time conversing in that cramped alley between the tents. Hastily, the sorceress made a promise to do what she could for the ailing Prince as well as to buy time for the acolytes. In exchange, Samuel and Fistynn would use whatever time she won them to think of some way – some way, any way – to find the ambiguously hidden Lady Rozenta.

For of course, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that it was her blood they needed, not his favorite acolyte's nor the King or Queen's. Things always – most inconveniently _always _– worked that way.

It would be sick if it weren't so ageless.

o…o…o…o…o

It was very deceiving, actually, how quickly the days flew by. In actuality, there weren't many – and upon second thought, there were only a few. One, two, and half of the third; the routine that the minute troop and I had endured became inarguably diurnal. We might have been energetic and indefatigable at the very beginning of the journey – or on another second thought, maybe not – but the tedium began to wear upon us, and due to a few days' lack of adventure, we were lulled into a calm that was not so justified.

And it just so happened that sleep became easy again, and just as it became easy, it gradually became deep. Insomnia no longer crept in the back of our minds, ready to pounce when the sun was well below its dawning horizon, and there were actually a few nights that Artor managed to snore.

It was the third day, and it began to appear that we were finally making progress; the landscape began to change, morphing from a spare and barren land to something much more verdant, something more complete. Trees were not existing in shallow groves; along the left side of the path, we could see the bare edges of a rather dark and vast woodland. When evening came and threw its sheer silhouette upon all, the waxing moon displayed itself half-lit in the sky. The illumination had a strange effect on the forest.

As the light hit it, tinges of red could be seen along the outline of the forest canopy, a cross between flame and burgundy. It was an unearthly sight, and we revered it as we slowed down and began to find a side of the wood shallow enough to sleep by. Our resting rule had been restored, what with the rather uneventful turn our journey was taking.

We stole glances at the bark of the trees that lined the very edge of the forest, which gleamed with a deep wine color whenever the moonlight fell upon it.

"Finally," grunted Artor, making a racket with the pots and pans and wooden dishes. "I did not realize until now that the way to the Redtide Forest was so long. Our map promises a shorter distance from here to the next village, at least."

"Redtide Forest?" I asked, my pitch rising by a tone. The name made perfect sense. "Artor, why is it that the trip going from Arvette to Whitewhey took one night, one dawn, and one afternoon, and that this takes over a week?"

He looked up, surprised I had to ask. "Have you forgotten the route we take? The traveler's road. It goes around the seven or so villages we could've cut through if we tried going along the main road. You see, the traveler's road is harder to trace, although admittedly it is more difficult to rely on. It is this road alone that has no branching streets, thank the Deity. Otherwise, we could've been caught many, many days ago." The oil he flung onto the kindling burst into a comfortable flame and as the warmth settled over the two of us, he visibly relaxed.

"Nifty," I remarked lightly, and he nodded.

"A Kionean oil for instant fires," he explained, his voice smooth with an expert's satisfaction. "Damn expensive, too. Glad it worked. Deity, I'm tired."

And it was then that I noticed he has a pillow laid against a log behind him, for cushioning. I, however, merely leant against a strong but flexible tree, the lower half of my body covered with a journeyman's blanket. It was cozy, in the most perfect phrasing, resting against the tree and waiting easily for his – now with his eyes closed – snores to come. Our dinner was short – sausage, the quality of which was wise to doubt but even wiser to disregard – and sleep followed us like a stalking shadow. I could feel myself actually fall into a doze, a fool's doze, an inadvisable doze…

Somewhere nearby, I heard the seemingly distant chatting of Corinne and Lady Asca, both of whom sounded as tired as they were enthusiastic. And funnily enough, not far from there, I could hear Jessamine rolling in her own makeshift cot, taking only a diminutive moment to begin snoring as loudly as a man. Now that was unexpected.

Jessamine, a serious, strange woman – snoring? It was practically a joke. Even as the first notes of slumber played across my mind, I could feel myself chuckle – could I hear it? – as I shifted into a more comfortable position…

o…o…o…o…o

I suppose the first thing that woke me was the sound of a woman's scream, shrill and bloodcurdling and everything any traveler would be loath to hear in unknown territory, on the edge of a woodland, in the middle of the night. My blood jetted like mercury through my veins, and with the last pitch of the scream still ringing in my ears, an urgent thump of the heart clawed me back to reality. My eyes popped open. With my hearing clear, I could hear a whinnying horse and the thin silver sound of an unsheathing sword.

I, like a zombie, sat into an upright position. My nostrils were filled with the smell of putrid ash. The blankets that were wound around me were formidable as I battled them, and as soon as I had managed to throw them off, a tree nearby burst into flame and I reeled backwards, shrieking.

The fires swallowed the tree whole, and even as I sat in the dirt before it, gazing up in utter horror and amazement, I knew dimly that it was something unnatural and _not_ – as the reasonable would chance to say – lightning. The combustion started at the bottom, the roots catching fire and with a crackling roar, turning into a black burnt color as the flames rose up along it; the blaze disappeared into the air as soon as it hit the topmost tip of the tree. As the blackened thing bent and broke before me, I glimpsed a man with a thick mustache and a mangy, unwashed appearance atop a black mount, galloping cleverly out of the forest, weaving in and out of the trees and finding an exit down the length of the shallow ends.

There was a bundle tied to the back of his horse; try as I might – I figured they would be stolen goods or so – I could not distinguish its finer details with my eyes; in the night, it looked only like a shadowy misshapen form.

Numb with terror and knowing too well that I was completely helpless, I turned and found myself in a tomblike silence, alone in my clearing. _Where would Lady Asca, Corinne, Artor, and Jessamine be?_ I stood and began to push my way through the trees, but there was no need for anything more than the gentlest push; they were all charred and roasted, and at my touch, they splintered and tore before me, landing like a bundle of kindling at my feet.

I looked up and found myself in a clearing, a space in the woods that looked as though it had been burnt thickly; from overhead, the moon beamed down and cast a pool of light down onto the ash-dappled ground. It was eerie to be alone in such a place, after such an abrupt blasting of fire, and the circumstances finally registered in my mind.

I broke into a run, my throat so thick that I could not do so much as yell for my companions.

It did not take me long to eventually run into a tree; I bounced off rather painfully and found myself with my back to the ground, and as I struggled to get up, I heard an odd rustling sound somewhere in front of me, somewhere I could not see. I had only rolled and made it to my knees before I heard the great wood crack loudly at the bottom, and with a mighty scream, I threw myself blindly to the side.

I heard it creak hugely as it collapsed, and I winced as I felt a branch graze itself rudely along my thigh. Some sort of womanly figure came rushing over, muttering an endless string of apologies, and she put her hand upon the mild wound; there was dirt on her palm, and for an excruciating moment, the tender cut began to throb and sting. I squirmed, but something on her own flesh changed – her hand was heating up like a muffled furnace, and then freezing, and heating up again.

Then she took her hand from my skin and seemed to examine the red spot before leaving it alone. Befuddled, I pushed myself up on my elbows and put my own hand to my leg, searching for the injury.

There was none.

With a great exhale, I – practically a cat – heaved myself up and managed a sitting position. Jessamine, still seeming unconvinced that I was not in the best of physical conditions, took my hand and assisted me in balancing my weight on my legs.

I felt like a new colt, but still I could not speak; quite honestly, I felt sick with the distress. My vision was poor, and I had to squint several times before the figures of my friends could begin to clear up; there was Lady Asca, standing by Jessamine in her nightgown and looking pale and confused, and to the back of her – treading around with some distance between the company – was Artor. He had one hand over his face and for the second that I watched him, he nearly stumbled in his steps.

He looked weak; I thought it strange, but then I frowned and looked over the faces again.

Lady Asca; Jessamine; Artor.

Someone was missing.

In answer to Jessamine's rather fierce stare, I admitted, "It is the shock more than anything else," in a hoarse tone, and when my vocal chords shook, I noticed that they felt raw with the inhalation of smoke.

"Good," she said with an obvious ferocity, and whipping her head around, she turned and threw out her hand.

The tree closest in its direction burst into an immense flame, and I could not breathe; it was blue and heavier than anything ordinary, and it stole all the air in the area. You could see the bark roast through it, and then, as suddenly as it had come, the fire disappeared into a tiny, gray puff of smoke.

I swayed, and her arm reached out again to grab mine; she caught me right before my knees could bend, but some force other than her physical strength drove me upwards. If it was fear or the magic that this woman could conjure, I could not decide.

"I knew you had been strange, but…" I choked on my words.

"I know some of the fires cropped up near you," she said brusquely, as though I had not been speaking. "so I apologize. You were not my target."

She said no more and stepped away, disappearing behind a few trees. No one asked questions. _She'd be back_, I thought to myself, safe in my head. _She's made it her business now. She'll be back._

Maybe, if I tried hard enough, I could pretend that I did not know she was magic.

"So," I sighed, putting a hand to my temple. It was throbbing. "A disastrous night, this. What did the bandit steal? I saw him on a horse with a bundle; they weren't the pots, were they?"

Lady Asca had made to shrug – very unlike a lady, I noticed, realizing that she knew etiquette was of little importance on this quest – as a derisive cackle broke through the wood. Startled, we turned around and saw Artor stamping towards us, his face a fury. There was pain and anger and a mad sneer on his face; I could not look long at his expression without cringing.

"The pots? The pots! How stupid are you, Rozenta?" he bellowed, suddenly an imposing figure with a strong chest and broad shoulders and the capacity to go insane. "If it'll please you, our _pots_ are fine, absolutely fine. It's… the bundle…" But he faltered and couldn't continue. He hands flew up to his face, as though shame had finally caught up with him. Shame, and maybe a little sanity.

"… was Corinne," a softened voice behind us completed for him: Jessamine. She had returned from the depths of the clearing with a clear, glimmering, ruby-red stone in hand. Her fingers rubbed at it in excess, and there was a solemnity in her face that made her look more like a magical politician than a dead bard's widow.

This time, I could not contain my surprise and anguish. I let out a huge gasp and found my stomach turning and turning and churning – that bundle, that crumpled bundle, it was motionless.. _she could not be…!_

"Not dead," Jessamine snapped in answer to my thoughts. _Oh yes_, I thought, ignoring my surprise. _They can do that._ "Only kidnapped. And she cannot be more than a mile from here – I have this stone that will go hot when we come some meters near her; it will help us in our ride to find her. We can forget Loranen Village," she added, a glint in her eye that challenged opposition.

"No!" Artor yelped, taking us all by surprise. There was a concentrated silence before he elaborated. "No. We've come too far, and that was a bandit… who knows if the others had come here with him? The rest may ambush us at any given moment."

My jaw went slack.

"I think," he went on in a slow, quiet, careful voice. "that this will be something I will have to do myself. My own little problem, you can say. Please," he added sharply, raising his hand when Jessamine's mouth instantly popped open to object. "The Lady Asca is in constant danger, especially since she is with child – yes, I know that you are," he answered the unasked question Lady Asca's eyes threw at him. "So this will be up to me. I'll take a horse and I'll find her. And I won't come back until that bandit is dead."

With the last sentence, his voice rose in volume and grew in savagery. The protests were made in wordless but nonetheless cutting glances, and we knew that he could read them – perfectly well, too, we would choose to think – but he gave no notice. Instead, though he spoke decently enough, we knew there was some sort of hell going on behind his eyes, a sort of turmoil that he preferred us not to witness.

We did not appreciate the consideration. With our gazes, we expressed our disapproval, and though Jessamine actually stepped forward once, he turned swiftly away and disappeared among the trees.

"Nonsense," Lady Asca breathed, torn between frustration and reverence. "He can't be serious. Him, alone? I don't suppose any of us can stop him," she added, receiving a hard glare from Jessamine. The serious young woman gave a derisive snort, as though she thought she could somehow bridle him, but there was a sort of twist to her mouth that bespoke of doubt.

_Goodness_, I thought to myself, tilting my head. _She's arrogant. Until now, I couldn't tell._

And so there was another moment of silence, stretching with every breath, as though all of us were recoiled somehow, ready to pounce with the next word. Deep down, all of us knew that during this moment in time, Corinne was being hauled off by some scoundrel, and that anything could happen to her within the next hour.

We would do well to make haste, I thought, and after half a second, the thought sent the others into a rush. I couldn't help but notice that we no longer walked between duties, but ran; and we simply chucked all the supplies into the nearest satchels.

o…o…o…o…o

It was decided; it would be Artor and Artor alone who would go to seek her, taking his horse and an arguably pocket percentage of the supplies. It was not as though the decision was fairly made – it was more of the opposite, really, although maybe our true fault lay in not debating cleverly enough – but how much could you say that a man in love would not disregard completely? A strong, proud, and madly-in-love man – someone like the heroes who died in those love stories.

_Hopefully more like the ones who come back victorious_, I prayed in my mind, but who could be so sure?

Only minutes had passed – like wind by the window – by the time we were prepared to leave. None of us save for Artor had the spirit enough to mount his horse, and we only followed suit for the sake of normalcy. He began to ride, taking a few steps ahead of us, and we knew this was _not_ a proper goodbye, but did nothing.

Before he could get very far, his horse jerked back as though it were whipped.

He turned in his seat, and instinctively, the rest of us turned. Jessamine, somewhere toward the back, had her arm outstretched defiantly, her face pinched with more rage than gloom.

"Jessa," he said reproachfully, and I couldn't help but frown at the nickname. Odd, that was.

"Artor, you utter _moron_," she spat at him, her voice dripping with venomous scorn. That was odd, too; you'd think she'd be a little more docile. "Let us go with you, at least. You think she does not matter to us? Do you refuse to see us as anything more than commiserating bystanders?"

"Jessamine, shouldn't he hurry?" I asked her hastily, my voice rising in panic. It just occurred to me… if he took her because he _desired _her, how long would it take for him to…?

"Yes, I should," he said to me, ignoring Jessamine completely. "But not for that reason; he was a bandit, remember? He might be part of the group that is combing the roads for us. He would have to report back immediately, to keep the others' suspicions from arising. He would not simply stop by the road to…" Visibly, Artor winced.

"Are you sure?" Lady Asca inquired, sounding disdainful of the dawdling. But this time Jessamine stepped forward, scoffed, and waved her hand.

"Don't you think I've thought of that already?" she cried impatiently. "Otherwise, I'd have whipped you all for taking so long. Now that you all know what I am," and she raised her chin, daring someone to make any sort of derogatory remark, "you know what I can do. Or can guess, at least. As the bandit carried her off, I made certain – with a spell, a good spell – that he would not be able to touch her, harm her, in any way."

Artor let out a strong exhale, seemingly reassured. "Is it strong?"

"Indeed. However, it is only temporary, and the perilous thing is that I don't quite know how long it will last. It depends on the magician's concentration when cast – and as you may know…" she let herself trail off, and sternly she scrutinized him, his reaction. We could all guess that what with the fireballs she ignited everywhere, she wasn't too focused.

So this was up to Artor, now. His expression was closed, that internal hell now weighed with pressure. There was nothing anyone could say to take this duty from him; that was obvious. We knew he loved Corinne to the death, and we also knew that he knew that saving Lady Asca was just as important. She was _with child._ Since time was scarce, this was a choice that should not be taken too lightly to heart.

"I wish you could let us help," I said before I clenched her jaw. Beside her, Lady Asca nodded, protectively keeping one hand on her belly; that was reasonable, in times like these. "I wish we could do something. I wish you wouldn't be so bigheaded as to keep this to yourself."

But he only shrugged it off, dismissively. "All of you have helped; Jessamine lent me the stone, remember? And anyway, we'd best be moving. Do not look so upset, it doesn't become any of you," he added, with the merest trace of his old jolliness. "You'll see me again. I promise it."

But even as we bid him our farewell and began to trot off in separate directions, there was no doubt that if he would succeed, it would take a miracle for he and Corinne to find us. And at this point, there was no sense – everything was about sense, now – in hoping for anything more than was natural.

But then, aren't these the tales of heroes? Upon thought, this is what love is infamous for doing: planting the most obscene of stupidities in otherwise entirely reasonable people. Could we be grateful for it? Perhaps not now, when we are forced to watch one of our cherished comrades ride away with only a half-full satchel, the most amateur of hero-ing devices, and only a fiercely beating heart to set things aright.

Lady Asca, Jessamine, and I simultaneously swiveled in our seats; we saw his back, the back of his horse, and our hearts sank a little further. He looked a hero in the budding light, with the white-yellow crowning him as he disappeared toward it, and with the shadow of what followed heroic fools trailing him.

It was easy letting go; it was watching his retreating back that was so difficult. Perhaps it was because at this point, everything was moving by Fortuna's hand, not ours.

Dimly, as the flat, almost cynical lands were lit by the whispers of dawn, as the not-so-rolling hills and the not-so-verdant plains seemed longer than ever before, and as we rode not as a comfortable troop of five but now a thoroughly helpless trio, I thought of my own hero, as much a risk-taker as Artor.

But thinking leisurely was impractical; I suppressed my pride for him and urged the others to fall into a strong, rushing gallop; by light, we were beginning to see the tops of village roofs rising over the landscape, and unconsciously, we did our best to win back the time we wasted.

o…o…o…o…o

**Afterthoughts:** Not as well-written as I would have liked it to be, but I don't have a lot of time on my hands. I haven't read a decent book in weeks (unless you count Animal Farm by George Orwell for a class assignment), I've been bombarded with end-of-the-year business, and quite frankly, I've been losing enthusiasm in everything – yes, even writing. Is this a phase?

If it is, it's taking _too damn long._

Cheers. :-)


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